


When Your Heart is Aching

by Danielasaurus



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Depression, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, HP: EWE, Hogwarts Eighth Year, M/M, Multi, PTSD, Slow Burn, as slow a burn as I can manage, now with more tags
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-09
Updated: 2018-03-05
Packaged: 2018-10-30 00:06:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 19
Words: 46,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10864941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Danielasaurus/pseuds/Danielasaurus
Summary: Harry is left to his own devices more and more these days, what with Voldemort being dead, his best friends celebrating the end of the war by laying each other down on any flat surface they can find, and his inability to maintain anything more than a platonic relationship with Ginny. Because of all of the free time he suddenly finds himself with, he slips into arguably his oldest habit at Hogwarts: obsessing over Malfoy.





	1. The Hogwarts Express

The Hogwarts Express had pulled up to Platform 9 ¾ , and Harry hadn’t yet taken the time to look around at the swarm of faces around him, used to it as he was to ignore the stares from crowds. He instead focused on Ron and Hermione at his sides, making idle conversation about what to expect from the upcoming school year (a conversation they had often had over the last four months following the Battle of Hogwarts), which was somehow turning into an argument over the fact that although they both had been prefects, neither Ron nor Hermione were selected as Head Boy or Head Girl in their eighth year. Ron seemed to be rather insulted by this snub, even though it had clearly not occurred to him that he could even have _been_ Head Boy before this final go at the conversation, while Hermione was arguing that Headmistress McGonagall had likely (rightly) thought that they’d had enough responsibility on their shoulders over the course of the war and the years leading up to it, and that they might actually _like_ the chance to be regular students for once.

“-and honestly, Ron, if you really think about it, the Head Boy and Girl are usually positions given to seventh years, and we not only missed our seventh year _entirely,_ we’re technically eighth years now. It would have been awfully unfair for the seventh years if McGonagall just took that away from them, after all of this.”

“Yeah, I guess that's a good point. I always _did_ reckon you were clever enough to skip a year anyway,” said Ron, having done a complete one-eighty from his previous indignation to that soppy puppy-love romantic expression Harry had gotten all too used to seeing on both of his friends’ faces. Hermione’s cheeks turned a light pink, and her bossy expression softened to one of deep affection. Harry finally turned away.

“Well Hermione might be, but I’ve got a feeling I’ll be rubbish at everything except DADA this year. Feels like I haven’t had the chance to do much more than defence in ages.” Harry hid the truth of his nervous statement with a crooked grin. He really hadn’t been so nervous about going to Hogwarts since he’d been a tiny first year, barely believing that he was a wizard at all.

“Oh come off it Harry, I’m sure you’ll do fine. We’ve got Hermione to help us study after all,” said Ron, a careless arm draped around Hermione’s shoulders. Her face was still rather pink and fond, but that didn’t stop her from rolling her eyes at them.  


“More like there to copy homework off of. Don’t worry though Harry, I’m sure that after everything we’ve gone through, a final year at Hogwarts will be nothing to worry about. Although we _will_ be taking our NEWTs this year…  I just wish I’d gotten a chance to finish reading the course materials over the summer.”

Now it was Harry’s turn to roll his eyes.

“Hermione, only _you_ would consider reading all of the textbooks from cover to cover before the year has begun appropriate summer reading. Beside, I heard enough from my room at Grimmauld Place to know that whatever it was that kept you two too busy to be reading all summer, it wasn’t any hardship at all.”

Hermione flushed a dark red at that, with Ron just as red if not more so beside her. Both still managed to look rather pleased with themselves despite their obvious embarrassment.

“Well we- we should get on the train before it leaves without us and the whole thing is moot. Come along, boys!” and with that she was scurrying off onto the train, her trunk floating along weightlessly behind her. Ron turned to look at Harry, still rather red in the face as he shrugged and grinned, and went after her. Harry smiled at them both and went to climb onto the Hogwarts Express himself. With one foot on the platform and one foot on the bright red step of the train, he turned around to look at the station.

It might be the last time he ever took off from Platform 9 ¾ . He took in the sight of all the families milling about: parents nervously wringing their hands as their first years got onto the train, returning students reuniting with classmates they hadn’t seen for the summer, the odd parent chit-chatting with the parent of their child’s friend. The usual hubbub of September 1st at King's Cross, which warmed Harry to his core. He had feared the war would have taken every last shred of normalcy from his life, but it seems that Hogwarts (even just the Hogwarts Express) proved yet again immune to the lasting evils of war. And that’s when Harry spotted him.

Unaccompanied, and making his way towards the train in the most roundabout way possible so as to not disturb or displace anyone, was Draco Malfoy.

He looked slightly better than he had last time Harry saw him at the Death Eater Trials in May, a few weeks after the Battle of Hogwarts, but that wasn’t saying much. He’d been positively gray in the face then, haunted, and withdrawn in a way that Harry could hardly recognize when he was called up to the stand, having mostly seen Malfoy as a joyous, smug, pompous yet happy prig his entire life.

But then Harry had remembered what Malfoy had been forced to do in his sixth year, remembered that Voldemort had been living in his house, remembered how he had seen him cry in frustration at his life, remembered how he held him tightly around the ribs as they flew over the Fiendfyre just a few weeks before, remembered the recognition in his eyes as he had been asked to identify Harry and how he had _lied,_ and suddenly his ashen complexion seemed thoroughly justified.

It had been easy then, to ask the Wizengamot and the spectators for the trials to have mercy on him. It had been easy to ask that they forgive him entirely, as he had just been a kid in a difficult situation, without any choices, just as he had been. It had been slightly less easy to say that they should forgive him because no one had suffered more at the hands of Draco Malfoy than himself, and that Harry had already forgiven him everything. It had been difficult to say, but even as he said it, he knew it was the truth.

It definitely wasn’t easy to meet Malfoy’s eyes after saying such honest and vulnerable things, but his eyes searched for Malfoy's anyways. They only held each other's gazes for an instance before Malfoy averted his eyes, going back to sitting ramrod straight in his chair, eyes to the top of the table in front of him. Harry was sure nevertheless that he hadn't imagined the deep emotion barely contained behind those grey eyes of his.

In the end, the Wizengamot listened to him, and pardoned Malfoy for his crimes during the war, as well as for the brand on his arm, but they strongly suggested that, as he had been instrumental in the initial destruction of Hogwarts, that he do his part in its reparations. They suggested that he pay a sum of 1,000 Galleons to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, or commit to 1,000 hours of service to the school and to Hogsmeade, put in as service in the restoration and rebuilding of the two.

Malfoy spoke for the first time in the trial when he rose from his seat, thanked the Wizengamot for their judgement, and volunteered to do both. He didn’t look back at Harry once.

Harry had stared at him for the rest of the trial and watched him leave a free man as it ended, the next Death Eater being brought in for trial in his stead.

He turned to face the Death Eater and carried on with the revolving door of trials he had been made to testify in over the course of the last few days.

He told himself he didn’t want to think about Malfoy any longer, and so he hadn’t until that day on Platform 9 ¾.

He was looking gaunt, his pale hair and delicate features being washed out by the deep black of his robes. Their high collar didn’t do much to shorten his long, elegant neck, bowed though it was, facing the floor. He wasn’t carrying a trunk, rather a small leather satchel was slung across his body, and Harry found himself wondering whether the satchel was magical like Hermione’s beaded purse was.

Harry stared as he made his way slowly but surely to the train, unsure whether he could go up to him and ask, even though they weren’t friends, hadn’t ever been anything _close_ to friendly, and how do you even go about asking former enemy about their _purse anyw-_

“Um, excuse me- um, sir? You’re um, blocking the door. Sir.”

Startled out of his reverie, Harry looked down ( _blimey, really far down, had he ever been that small?)_ at the first year that was currently shifting awkwardly from foot to foot, one hand on his very large and very heavy-looking trunk.

“What? Oh bugger, right, sorry! Here let me give you a hand with that-” Harry took out his wand and cast a _Wingardium Leviosa_ to the trunk. The first-year stared at the trunk as though he was seeing a levitating trunk for the very first time.

“ _Wicked._ ”

Harry grinned at the muggleborn kid, who was looking at him as though he hung the moon, and sent the trunk off with a flick of the wrist. It neatly stacked itself on top of two trunks and an empty owl cage already perched on the nearest overhead compartment. He then waved at the first-year and sauntered off to find Hermione and Ron, happy to have someone look at him in wonder not because of what had happened at the Battle of Hogwarts, or his role in the war, but because _magic was cool_. He remembered that feeling all too well.

When he reached the compartment that Ron and Hermione had saved for them (their favourite, all the way at the back of the train), he had the courtesy to knock before entering, giving them a chance to get themselves in order before barging in, having previously learned the lesson that his best mates were rather randy after the war, and needed little more than a closed door and a half a second to get their hands on each other.

True to form, when he opened the door it was to Ron wiping his mouth, and Hermione buttoning the last buttons at the top of her blouse. He made the standard show of covering his eyes, and claiming eternal scarring, but he knew his voice betrayed laughter, and through his fingers he could see them both rolling their eyes as they finished setting themselves to rights.

“Did either of you notice how small the first years are this year, before you became too distracted with each other?”

“Mate, I’m always distracted by Hermion-” Hermione smacked Ron in the chest before he could finish his sentence. “Ow, blimey!”

Hermione chose to ignore him entirely. “Harry, you were smaller than _all_ of them first time I saw you. Hardly looked big enough to be the same age as us at all!”

“Yeah mate, you were a right runt! When in Merlin’s name did you get as tall as you are now anyway?”

Harry rolled his eyes and sat down across from them; he was certainly taller than he’d been as a first year, but he wasn’t anywhere near as tall as Ron was. Or Malfoy for that matter.

“Did you see Malfoy on the Platform?”

“No, not that I was keeping an eye out for the little ferret; were you? What was he up to now?” Ron seemed to be asking the questions out of rote, not necessarily caring for an answer as he was busy tracing mindless patterns on Hermione’s arm. Hermione tucked herself more closely into Ron’s side, but her gaze was definitely sharper as she waited for Harry’s answer.

“I wasn’t looking out for him exactly, I just- saw him. He wasn’t doing anything really, just trying to get on the train. He didn’t have a trunk though, just a bag. Thought it might be one like yours, Hermione.”

“Might be,” she answered thoughtfully, “although he might just already have his stuff at Hogwarts.”

Ron and Harry shot her confused glances and she returned their looks with an exasperated huff.

“He’s been volunteering a thousand hours towards the reconstruction, hasn’t he? That works out to about four months non-stop. He’s likely been at Hogwarts helping with the rebuilding since just after the trial.”

“Oh. Right, I hadn’t thought about that.”

Harry hadn’t thought about it either. He had known of course, that Malfoy would be rebuilding Hogwarts with some of the professors, and other volunteers, he was there when Malfoy agreed to it, but he hadn’t actually _thought_ about it. Hadn’t thought to volunteer either and suddenly, he was racked with guilt. Hogwarts was his home, his first _real_ home, and he hadn’t even thought about helping in the reconstruction, busy as he was enjoying the post-war world, and fulfilling his duties in the trials, and discussing with the members of the Order and the new Ministry what exactly should be done in order to ensure that another war would never happen again. He has so wrapped up in his thoughts that he very nearly missed Hermione speaking to him again.

“-esides, the charms around the purse are very complex. I’m not sure Malfoy knows them all.”

“Yeah, not everyone is as clever as our Hermione! Certainly not ferret-face,” he planted a smacking kiss to Hermione’s cheek, who rolled her eyes, but took the compliment his a smile.

Harry though was remembering the night when he caught Malfoy crying in the bathroom, pushed to the end of his rope with nobody but Moaning Myrtle of all people ( _people?_ ) to comfort him. All because of that troublesome broken Vanishing Cabinet, which he had not yet managed to fix, but that he _did_ fix just weeks later.

“Maybe,” said Harry, not wanting to take away from Ron’s compliment, because really, Hermione was cleverer than all of them put together. But he was still thinking about that night, and the bright, bright blood on Malfoy’s porcelain skin, and on the porcelain tiles. Maybe that had been the only thing Malfoy had been missing, that final push over the edge that caused him to stumble on whatever genius it required to get that impossible task completed.

Hermione was looking at him as though she knew exactly where his thoughts had turned, a very similar look to the one she shot him all through that school year. He resolved to change the topic.

“So who _are_ the Head Boy and Girl this year?”

The rest of the train ride passed by in an amicable discussion, during which Malfoy’s name didn’t come up once.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I haven't posted fic out into the universe since early Glee days, and like, Inuyasha fandom literally over a decade before that as an eleven year old (because I've been a fanfic devouring animal since I emerged from the womb it would seem), but a few months ago a dumb Drarry scene popped into my head on my way to work and so I typed it out and sent it to a friend, who liked it so I decided I would sort of write around it and make it an actual fic, and I wrote like 9000 words in three days buts then I dropped it because LOL i drop shit all the time, but then I decided that "hey, maybe you should actually make a concerted effort to not be a trash person who quits everything" so I decided to finish it, and that to keep me accountable I would post it on AO3 because, fuck it why not, even though I am like, weirdly nervous about it????, since it has literally been years since I put myself out there like that but again: FUCK IT, so here is the first chapter, there are 4 ready to go and I'm working on the rest as I go along, and I guess I'll try to post once a week????
> 
> also, wow, that was one sentence, jesus, please don't judge the quality of my writing by the end notes because JESUS END A SENTENCE EVERY ONCE IN A FUCKING WHILE MAYBE AND QUIT PRESSING THE COMMA KEY, FUCKSSAKE 
> 
> TL;DR It's been a minute, but hopefully I'll be posting new chapters weekly.


	2. The Great Hall

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, everyone who left kudos, who bookmarked and even commented; I can't tell you how much it meant after such a long hiatus from posting any creative work. I'll be posting on Fridays from now on, thanks to the encouragement of my dear Murphy.

The Great Hall looked exactly as Harry remembered it; or rather, as it had been preserved in his memories from before the war, and before the terrible battle that marked the end of it.

 

Gone were the dead and the injured, gone were the shadows that had clung to the walls, and to the high corners of the sky ceiling.

 

It was beautiful, alive, and lit a warm golden yellow from the light of the thousands of candles floating gently above their heads.

 

Harry was home.

 

He took a seat at the Gryffindor table, and caught up with Seamus and Dean while they waited for the First Years to arrive and for the welcome ceremonies to begin. He saw that McGonagall was already sitting in the Headmaster’s ( _Headmistress’s?_ ) chair at the center of the Head Table, and distantly wondered who might be greeting the first years when suddenly, the doors burst open.

 

It was Professor Flitwick who led the group of first years in. They were all slightly damp from the boat ride over the Great Lake during the misty September dusk, although none were as wet to the bones as Dennis Creevey had been on his first day, six years ago. Harry’s chest tightened at the thought. He looked down the Gryffindor table at him now, and at the place where his brother Colin should have been.

 

Harry had seen Dennis earlier as well, when they had gotten off of the Hogwarts Express. Like most of the returning students, he had stood dumbly as he got off of the train, and stared at the carriages that for all of his tenure at Hogwarts had been pulled invisibly.

 

The thestrals had looked back at them with their sharp leathery faces, and their incongruously soft eyes, shy, and unused to being noticed by so many.

 

Amidst the solemn masses, Luna Lovegood had gone up to one and pet it, as though it was an old friend, and fed it a piece of meat which she had conjured up from Merlin knows where.

 

“Hello Acorn, you’re looking lovely as ever,” she had said, with her whimsical, breathy voice, and as suddenly as it had set in, the tension had dissipated. Everyone grabbed their trunks and carried on, as they had been carrying on since the war had ended. Harry was violently reminded just how cool Luna was.

 

In the Great Hall, Harry turned back towards the first years, and put the lingering image of Dennis Creevey staring glassy eyed at the thestrals out of his mind. Once all of them had been herded into the Great Hall, the doors closed and McGonagall rose from her seat.

 

“Good evening students! It is with great pleasure that I welcome you all back to Hogwarts, for another year of learning. Many of you will know that it took several alumni and professors to champion for the reopening of our doors so soon after the events of May 2nd, but it was through all of their hard work, and your own inspiring dedication to learning, that we find ourselves back at our Hogwarts home today.”

 

Hermione was nodding along with every word out of McGonagall’s mouth. Harry knew how hard Hermione had petitioned the school administration and the Wizengamot to allow the school to reopen, and he knew that she hadn’t been the only one fighting for her right to an education. Not that Harry really understood why Hermione thought she needed another year of Hogwarts so badly; somewhere along the way Harry just started thinking of Hermione as someone who already knew everything, and who could teach herself in an instant anything she might not already know, and he could frankly not think of anyone who might need school to learn _less_ than Hermione. But there was no denying that despite all that, school was where Hermione most belonged. Harry nudged Hermione’s side softly, and shot her a quick fond grin, to which she responded in kind before returning her focus to the Headmistress’ speech.

 

“Over the past few years, we have all had difficult lessons to learn. We have learned about loss, and about suffering, and this as a result of pointless divides. Divides that I am ashamed to say may have been started, and encouraged in our very halls.”

 

The Great Hall was quiet as a tomb. Everybody hung on McGonagall’s words.

 

“It is in hopes of creating house unity that I am enacting a new housing situation this year. Rather than be divided in dormitories to each house, you will be grouped by year-”

 

McGonagall paused as whispered exclamations erupted all through the Hall, but Harry was shocked into silence at the thought that he might not see Gryffindor Tower again. A panicky feeling was growing inside him, which he couldn’t quite name, but felt very much like loss.

 

"During the reconstruction of Hogwarts we rearranged the dorms to incorporate elements of all four houses, so that you may all feel at home, but it was unanimously decided that separating students by year was the only way forward. This is not to say that we will be doing away with the centuries old tradition of Hogwarts Houses; you will still be sorted into the four houses and will be expected to comport yourself in such a way as to best reflect that house. The Head Boy and Girl have already spoken to your houses´ Prefects and there will now be additional students in charge of maintaining order in every year's dormitory. These students wil-"

 

As McGonagall continued explaining how representatives for their years would not have the power to take house points the way that prefects did, but would report to the student’s house's prefects, and Harry zoned out. It all seemed needlessly complicated, and there really wasn't any reason to do away with centuries of tradition over a little house-rivalry was there? The panicky feeling refused to leave him, but then he looked at the other houses and amidst the faces as shocked and confused as his was sure to be, Harry saw several heads nodding along emphatically. From a few seats down he heard a sixth year speaking quietly: _makes sense dunnit? That they’d try to stop everyone from falling back on old patterns so soon after You-Know-Who died._

 

Harry turned to Malfoy at that. He was the only one in the Great Hall who didn’t seem surprised at all, or to be paying much attention to what McGonagall was saying. He was rubbing the tip of his wand on the table top instead, muttering something to himself.

 

_Is he setting some kind of curse, or hex on the Slytherin table?,_ Harry wondered. Would it still even be the Slytherin table now?

 

Harry thought he’d heard McGonagall say something about how they should feel encouraged to sit where they pleased, as opposed to segregated by house. Was Malfoy perhaps casting some kind of spell that would make the table attack any non-Slytherins that sat there?

 

Malfoy then stopped casting, and ran his hand on the table, a hint of a smile in his eyes. It didn’t reach his lips really, but it cast a brief light on the shadows that were weighing down his face.

 

Harry turned his focus back towards McGonagall.

 

“-ure you will all do your best to encourage the kind of unity that made it so that Hogwarts was founded in the first place. The war is over, students, and a new age must begin. And with that, I invite the First Years to line up in alphabetical order, so that they may be sorted into their Hogwarts House.”

 

Harry’s lips quirked; as much as things changed, some things would stay the same. Even as Headmistress, Professor McGonagall couldn’t stop herself from directing the First Years. Harry shot a glance back at Malfoy, another, more annoying constant at Hogwarts, and although there was a glimmer of humour in his eyes, his lips stayed downturned. Harry was interrupted from his reverie as the Sorting Hat burst into song.

 

“ _A thousand years ago,_   
_When I was still a new-sewn hat,_   
_Four founders build four houses, and_   
_We all said: "that was that!"_   
  
_Sweet Helga went and took some,_   
_Clever Salazar some as well,_   
_Each founder took some here and there,_   
_Never thinking they should beware._   
  
_Quite quickly grew divide and strife,_   
_In houses and in friends._   
_Resentment grew in all their lives,_   
_And we know how that story ends._   
  
_"Why do the same, again and again,"_   
_I pondered on my rack._   
_"They had all started off as friends,_   
_They would abhor all these attacks!"_   
  
_And so today we take new steps,_   
_We will challenge what we knew!_   
_You will not live in separate houses,_   
_Rather the founders, will live in_ you _._   
  
_I'll sort you now, by spirit yes,_ _  
_ Into these houses, four,

_But never think your neighbour less,_

_For just the colours that they wore._   
  
_So as you perch me on your head,_   
_Remember these words, all._   
_The war is over, and we're not dead,_ _  
_ But a broken house can always fall.”

 

The sorting hat’s song leant McGonagall’s speech and decision to redistribute the students by year the foreboding tone of a premonition averted. No one was whispering anymore.

 

In the silence, Professor Filtwick’s squeaky voice rang loud and clear as we asked Jacob Abrahams to step forth to be sorted. The eleven year-old seemed terrified at the prospect of being first to put the ominous hat on his head, but his steps to the stool were sure and steady, if slow, and his hands didn’t shake when the time came to lift the hat to his head.

 

Harry cheered raucously with the rest of the Gryffindor table and tried not to think about the sadness in his heart at the prospect of not seeing their newest housemate grow up.

 

* * *

 

The eighth year dorms were not at all like the Gryffindor Tower. There were many more windows, for one, giving the common room an almost panoramic view of the castle, which Harry imagined would lend the room a brightness during the day that the cozy Gryffindor common room had lacked. There was no room on the window-covered walls to hang portraits of past Heads of House, and Harry wondered for a moment if that might not have been intentional. The only things that hung on the wall were a notice board by the door, and a large mirror over the mantel. Large flat chandeliers hung from the tall ceilings, illuminating the vast tower in the night, although the candles on them didn’t seem to be resting on the wrought iron structure, but rather floating all around it, some even upside down.

 

The furniture seemed to be a mish mash of the four houses’, if the familiar set of squashy Gryffindor armchairs topped with Ravenclaw bronze cushions was anything to go by. Harry thought that in time he might come to appreciate the intended spirit of unity, but at the moment he was grappling with homesickness, despite being at the only home he had ever really known. He longed for the Gryffindor common room more than he had thought it possible.

 

On a landing above the common room were rooms with name plates on them, two to a room. Without the possibility of a Gryffindor beginning-of-term bash ahead of him, Harry climbed the stairs to get ready for bed.

 

After a quick wrong turn at the left of the staircase, Harry found that he was sharing a room with Ron, tucked into the far right corner of the landing. Knowing that he would still be sharing a room with his best mate despite everything else that was changing around him lifted his spirits enormously. He turned the brass knob and entered to find a very spacious room with large windows on two of the walls, two desks and two large four poster beds with their trunks at the foot of them. Their beds hangings were still Gryffindor red and gold. Harry allowed himself a small tired smile before haphazardly removing his cloak, trainers, trousers and shirt and throwing himself onto the bed nearest the door. Once tucked in under the covers, glasses on the small bedside table to his right, he spelled the hangings shut and fell into a deep sleep.

 

* * *

 

As with most of his dreams lately, this one had the _feel_ of a nightmare, without any of the palpability of one.

 

He couldn’t see anything, but his nose was filled with the scent of the forest, and his stomach filled with dread. Tonight, beyond the smell of the forest he could smell the acrid scent of smoke, of burning flesh, and burning metal, and burning magic, but there was no firelight, no heat, nothing but the lingering smell of burning death. Although Harry couldn’t _see_ any danger, he could sense it, down to his marrow, chilling him to the bone.

 

He knew, with the certainty of one who had faced death many times, that he was about to die. He tried to run, either to meet his death head-on or away from the danger he couldn’t know, but running was the only way to burn through the adrenaline pumping in his veins, pushing him to action. He told himself that the shaking in his hands was attributed only to the adrenaline, and not fear, but in his dreams, fear seemed inescapable, undeniable, and the lie rang weak and untrue in his head.

  
He ran for hours until he reached his limit, death at his heels, relentless and unavoidable now, and then he woke up. His heart was pounding and he was gasping for breath that never seemed to fill his lungs. He took deep steadying breaths for long moments, but in the back of his nose, the smell of burning death remained.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two down, who knows how many to go. See you in a week!


	3. The Teachers' Pet

Despite his initial trepidation, it had taken them all less time than Harry had thought it might for everyone to get used to the new status quo in regards to the year separated dorms.

 

The new dorms were separated by floor, with the first years in the dungeon, the second years on the ground floor, the third years on the second floor and so on, which meant that the eighth years were on the seventh floor, all the way at the top of the castle. This made going down to meals and most classes a bit of a hike, but the Gryffindors and Ravenclaws at least were already used to trekking up a dozen flights of stairs several times a day to go to and fro from their dorms. It was a source of amusement for both houses to see Slytherins and Hufflepuffs alike muttering about the stairs as they struggled for breath when they needed to run up to grab a book, or a forgotten essay. It seemed that just like that Hufflepuff and Slytherin had something to grumble about together, to joke about together. A bridge, connecting their formerly polar realities.

 

It was hard, Harry realized, to hold on to a schoolhouse rivalry after having lived through a war; it was harder still to hold on to the childish thought that Slytherins as a whole were representative of the evil you had faced on the battlefield when you blearily brushed your teeth in the same sink as they did every morning, and shared a couch in the evenings, and bumped into each other in the hallway when you were trying to catch up on your neglected reading and walk down to breakfast at the same time.

 

Sharing in the mundanities of everyday life with your assumed enemies humanized them in a way that Harry should have anticipated, but hadn’t actually thought possible until he was living it. This was proving true of everyone else in his year, or so it seemed to Harry; everyone was slowly but surely letting down their guards, and if not becoming friendly quite yet, then at least they were at warming up to the idea of doing so.

 

This was true of everyone, with the notable exception of Draco Malfoy.

 

When all the eighth years were milling about in their common room comparing class notes, or playing Exploding Snaps, or just amiably sharing space, Draco Malfoy would either be conspicuously missing, or sitting in an isolated corner which Harry had come to think of as Malfoy’s. It had a bench and a desk tucked into a corner window, meaning that whomever was working there could glance out of the window and have a spectacular view of the grounds and the lake. Harry knew this because he had sat there once, when he noticed Malfoy’s absence, and he had grown tired of losing at chess to Ron.

 

Harry was always noticing Malfoy’s absence, and he knew that Hermione had spotted him noticing it. It was that trademark Hermione knowing gleam in her eyes that kept him from pulling out the Marauder's Map to check up on Malfoy as often as he might want to; a petty part of Harry wanted the rare pleasure of proving Hermione wrong about something, and he could definitely prove her wrong in thinking he was obsessed with Malfoy, even if she had yet to come out and say anything about it this year.

 

For the moment however, Harry was not thinking of Draco Malfoy, but rather trying desperately to focus on the reading Binns had assigned them on their very first week back, which he had put off until now, the night before they were due to have an in-class quiz on the subject matter. Harry was finding it harder than he remembered to get through dull academic texts, as the last year of his life had included no reading dryer than a Daily Prophet article on post-war wizarding economics or two, and even those he had merely skimmed before skipping to the Quidditch section. 

 

Harry turned on the yellow couch (a Hufflepuff common room staple that the eighth years had ended up with) where he, Ron and Hermione had been quietly studying, and saw that Ron and Hermione were rather wrapped up in each other, the books on their laps as useless as Harry’s. Harry smiled and rolled his eyes, and decided to leave the couch before they went horizontal and he ended up with a foot to the ribs.

 

At a table by the fire, three Ravenclaws, a Hufflepuff and two Slytherins were mulling over the latest Arithmancy homework. Although the exchange still seemed overly-polite and slightly too tense to be deemed amicable, the calculations on the middle of table were complex enough to require cooperation, and the six students all seemed content enough to do so. The calculations also seemed frightening enough to scare Harry away from the table, so he went to the vacant Malfoy nook and stared out the window instead. 

 

Harry tried to read on the Goblin Wars of 1593 for a while, but the subject was proving close to impossible to focus on. Although goblin history had never held any particular interest to him in the past, reading on their wars now caused him more often than not to drift off to thoughts of the war he had so very recently fought in himself, scattering his focus even further.

 

From the corner of his eye, he spotted movement. Across from the Great Lake, right outside the greenhouses, were two figures walking out that looked oddly like Malfoy and Professor Sprout. He couldn’t make out their faces from so on high, recognizing them solely by the almost unnatural brightness of Malfoy’s blond hair in the sunlight and Professor Sprout’s classic gardening robes and hat, but he could tell by their body language that whatever they were discussing was interesting to the both of them, as they were both gesticulating excitedly (Professor Sprout more so than Malfoy, who had been curiously reserved so far this year), and nodding along. Intrigued, Harry leaned closer to the window, as though he might hear what they were talking about, but he just ended up smacking himself in the face with the glass, the bridge of his glasses poking his nose painfully.

 

_ Right,  _ he thought to himself, rubbing his sore nose.  _ Talk about a bloody sign. _

 

Harry turned back to his book and resolutely kept his gaze from the window. 

 

“Oi, Granger! How’s about you and Weasley take a breather and come give us a hand with this equation then? Zabini’s gone mental and he thinks Professor Vector went and included Muggle physics in it!” 

 

Hermione, true to her nature, pushed Ron away from her, and turned to the Hufflepuff who had called out to her.

 

“She did  _ what? _ Wait, Zabini, how do you even know anything about Muggle physics? Sorry Ron, I have to just-” and with that she wrestled herself free from under Ron, and she wandered over to the table by the fire, absentmindedly fixing her skirt as she went, already completely engrossed in the Arithmancy problem in front of her. Ron looked so forlorn that a few of their year-mates sniggered and shook their heads at him sympathetically. Theodore Nott clapped a hand his shoulder from where he’d been walking behind the couch.

 

“Tough luck, Weasley. Guess you’ll have to figure out a way to bring Arithmancy into the bedroom if you wanna keep that one around.” The snickering increased, and Nott kept walking along to his room before Ron could figure out whether or not he should take offence at what the Slytherin had said. In the end he shrugged with a self-deprecating smile on his face.

 

“Yeah, I reckon you might be right.”   
  
Harry smiled at the entire scene, filled with a budding hope that the post-war world might just turn out okay after all. 

 

He chanced a glance out of the window, but Sprout and Malfoy were gone.   


 

* * *

 

After he’d caught Malfoy and Professor Sprout chatting in front of the greenhouses, Harry kept an eye out for Malfoy’s interactions with the other Hogwarts professors, and he was surprised at what he saw. 

 

Malfoy got on well with  _ all  _ of the teachers. 

 

He was positively  _ chummy  _ with some of them, in a way that Harry had never seen him be.

 

The first encounter he found worthy of note happened during a Charms class, when Professor Flitwick was teaching them a weaving charm and how it could be used to weave or knit fabrics as well as spells. 

 

He’d started them off on knitting a scarf as practice, just row after row of straight, simple, stitches and purls, and just that had required the bulk of Harry’s attention quite well for the bulk of the class, as he kept losing track of how many stitches he’d made. To his dismay, his scarf was turning out rather lumpy, although the last few rows seemed promising enough. He turned to his left and saw that Ron, surprisingly, had a rather nice and very long cream coloured scarf neatly stitching itself in front of him. When Ron caught him looking he shrugged.

 

“Mum’s been using this spell around me since before I can remember; must’ve stuck!” 

 

To his right, Hermione was having rather less surprising success as well, what with her S.P.E.W. knitting experience. She in fact seemed to have forgone knitting a scarf altogether, and was instead knitting a very pretty, very small dress, with matching booties, and a cap. She looked up at Harry with slightly shiny eyes and said: “I can’t- Dobby’s gone, so I can’t keep knitting him socks, but I think Winky might like this. Don’t you think?” 

 

Harry had a lump in his throat as he nodded. “Yeah,” he said hoarsely. He cleared his throat and tried again. “I think she’ll really like it.” 

 

Hermione smiled, and turned back to her knitting. Harry was about to do the same when he heard Professor Flitwick laughing in the front of the classroom. 

 

He was by Malfoy’s desk, casually prodding him in the ribs as he muttered something in his ear (which Malfoy was bent down rather low in his seat to offer him). From his seat in the back Harry could not make out what they were whispering about, but he could see from his profile, a light crinkle in Malfoy’s eye; yet another not-quite-smile. He said something in reply, and Professor Flitwick laughed again.

 

In front of him, already trailing down past his desk, was a long, pale, delicate cloak knitting itself, consisting of an tremendously complex, lace-like pattern. Draco was barely glancing at it as he elegantly waved his wand. Professor Flitwick was moving along, a light chuckle still escaping him, and Harry turned back to his scarf.

 

It was lumpier than ever.

 

* * *

  
  


The third time Harry noticed Malfoy talking to their professors, it was while he was out for a nighttime stroll under his Invisibility Cloak.

 

The dorm Harry shared with Ron was currently being occupied by Ron and Hermione. Rather than mill about in the common room waiting for them to vacate the premises, Harry had decided to grab his cloak and take a stroll after curfew to stretch his rule-breaking legs, so to speak.

 

He was already on his way back to the common room on the seventh floor when he heard Professor McGonagall talking. Harry immediately froze up, not wanting to be caught out after curfew, before remembering that he was under the cloak and she wouldn’t be able to see him. Then he heard Malfoy’s voice, and he scurried closer to them, quietly as he could.

 

“-eed to keep looking into this, you know that, don’t you Draco?” 

 

“I know, Headmistress, but it- it still keeps me up at night. I can’t put it out of my head.” 

 

“Right well, we’ve all learned that there’s no stopping you when you get an idea in your head, but I do insist that you take a breather from this project every once in awhile. Septima was telling me you were quite distracted in her lecture today, Draco, we don’t want you to forgo experiencing your final year at Hogwarts to the fullest, just because of that room.” 

 

Malfoy ducked his head as though chastised, and his mouth turned up at a corner, in what could have been a smile, if the rest of him didn’t look so serious.

 

“You’re right as usual Headmistress, I’m sorry. Please tell Professor Vector I’m sorry too, it’s just that she said something about quantum spaces and how it related to sensory-predictive numerology that got me thinking about the issue, and then I was off in my head.” 

 

McGonagall placed a hand on Malfoy’s shoulder, and looked at him with such softness that Harry could hardly recognize his typically severe-looking professor. 

 

“We understand, Mister Malfoy, but you must listen when we tell you that you’ve done more than enough. Let the room go.” She gently squeezed his shoulder and stepped back, putting on a stern look.  “And go to bed, young man, it is well past your curfew.” 

 

Malfoy did smile then, small but sincere in a way that was positively un-Malfoy. 

 

“Yes, ma’am. Goodnight, Headmistress.” 

 

“Goodnight, Mister Malfoy.” 

 

And with that McGonagall went off, presumably to bed as well, walking right towards Harry, who took care to duck out of her way immediately. He may have imagined it, but he felt a rather stern look directed at him, although it was just off to his left enough that Harry could tell his racing pulse to calm down. Soon enough, the hallway was all his. 

 

_ What on earth had he just witnessed? _

 

He had  _ never _ seen McGonagall be so openly fond of  _ anything _ , let alone a student. Let alone  _ Draco Sodding Malfoy. _ And Malfoy! He’d never been close to  _ any _ professor other than Snape, as far as Harry could tell, much less the Head of his rival House. 

 

This was incomprehensible. From the brief exchange he had witnessed, it had seemed to Harry as though Malfoy and McGonagall had the same sort of close and nurturing relationship Harry had had with Dum-

 

Harry couldn’t even finish the thought. He couldn’t understand any of this. But it was too late to be thinking about it now. 

  
Hoping that Ron and Hermione had finished having their fun, Harry made his way to the dorms, mind buzzing with the effort of not thinking about Malfoy’s relationship with their professors.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Although I wasn't sure I would be able to polish this before I published it, miracle of miracles I got a minute to myself to write and edit! As always, thank you for reading and leaving comments and kudos; they're more appreciated than you know!
> 
> If you want to talk fic, or anything else, come find me on Tumblr, at the same username.


	4. Hagrid’s Hut

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A big special thanks to Murphy on this one, who stopped me from spiraling too pathetically. You're the BEST.

The tipping point came when Harry went for tea at Hagrid’s.

 

Hermione and Ron were off snogging somewhere and by now Harry was used to clearing out and giving them their space. He had never resented them for what could be seen as the pair leaving him behind or making him feel like a third wheel, because he understood that if he had had someone to hold and celebrate the post-war world with, he might have been doing the exact same.

 

They were all still teenagers after all, no matter how old war had made them feel.

 

Harry was thinking about how clumsy his attempts had been to start something like that with Ginny, after the trials had ended when he came up to Hagrid’s cabin. He remembered how awkward it had felt to kiss her while he was still numb from battle, and how she’d admitted to still wanting to be together, surprising him after how poorly he had handled their burgeoning relationship in view of the war he had been facing. He had guiltily realized that he had hardly spared her a thought after he’d left Bill and Fleur’s wedding, but figured that perhaps now that the war was over he could maybe, finally, have a normal chance at a relationship with one of his favourite people in world.

 

He remembered realizing however as she straddled his lap, his hands around her curvy, lovely, naked hips, that even then, he hadn’t been feeling the same kind of desire she was. He remembers finishing up their awkward coupling by telling her this wouldn’t work out, and how instead of crying, or yelling as Harry had somehow been expecting in his stupid post-orasmic haze, she surprised him by laughing, and telling him she understood. She’d somehow made the awkwardness of dumping the girl you lost your virginity to mere seconds after the fact feel like just one more thing she carelessly and lovingly teased him about. They’d gone back to being friends without a hitch after that, Harry perpetually grateful for having Ginny in his life.

 

All that being said, he did find himself with a lot more free time on his hands that he was used to, what with there being no attempts on his life so far, no evil or fatally incompetent professors, no catastrophic event or mystery of any kind, no girlfriend and now no constant companions to mess around with to fill out his down time.

 

Harry resolutely told himself that being a little bored was absolutely not a valid justification to wish for there to be mortal-danger related excitement in his life, and picked up the pace to Hagrid’s.

 

Distracted by those thoughts as he was upon his arrival at Hagrid’s, it took him a second to realize that the inside of Hagrid’s hut was entirely different than he remembered. And larger. What-?

 

“-ight now, Professor. Just remember to tend to any further hatchlings in the workroom; we created it for a reason if you’ll recall.”

 

“Aye, yer right. But she was lookin’ at meh with these big ol’ puppy eyes, and I jus’ couldna leave ‘er alone.”

 

The voices were coming from a cavernous hall off to the right of the room, which Harry was _sure_ he would’ve noticed at some point in the last seven years if it had been there before.

 

“Right well, don’t take her to bed then, next time, just use the new cot in the workroom. The walls are less likely to melt from her snoring.”

 

“I wish you’d call it a nursery, it’s wha’ it’ is.”

 

There was a low chuckle.

 

“Professor, for my own sanity I’d prefer to keep calling it a workroom, if that’s quite alright. I’m afraid a burn from a Nancy was enough for me to see her as a full grown woman-dragon. I’ll be off now, enjoy your tea.”

 

“Right Draco, thanks again. I’ll let yeh know if there’s anything new developments with ‘er fire-breathing.”

 

“Please do.”

 

And then Hagrid and Malfoy finished making their way to the front room, where Harry was standing dumbstruck.

 

“‘Ello ‘Arry! Bit early fer our tea, eh? Not a problem, Draco ‘ere was just finishing up! Yeh sure yeh don’ wanna join us fer tea Draco?”

 

Malfoy suddenly looked quite wooden, definitely not as relaxed and... _happy_ as he had been just moments before, when he had not noticed Harry yet.

 

“Um, no Professor, thank you. I must be off. Please let me know if Nancy’s fire melts the new materials I brought you.” He turned to Harry, and made fleeting eye contact. “Potter,” he said, inclining his head lightly, and then he was off. Harry followed his retreat, still mute from the shock.

 

“Yeh know ‘Arry, he’s not as rotten as I though’ he was. Good kid that one.”

 

“What-” Harry could hardly believe what he was hearing. “What do you _mean_ Malfoy’s a good kid?”

 

“‘E helped me wit’ the nursery ‘e did! And ‘e helped Filtwick and the headmistress wit’ rebuildin’ me hut! Then again Draco did help wit’ rebuilding the whole castle, then, didn’e? ‘E was the one who said I should let ‘em expand it on the inside, and everythin’. ‘Ere! Lemme give yeh the tour!”

 

Hagrid then proceeded to take Harry on a rather lengthy tour of his now rather spacious hut. Aside from the front room (“the reception room ‘e called it”), there was a large kitchen, where Hagrid could finally put a kettle on without being bent over his small hearth, and a large bedroom, where Hagrid could finally sleep on a bed out of which none of his limbs spilled, and a large living room in which he could fit large comfortable couches. All these little touches, that showed such consideration to _Hagrid_ and to hear him say it, half of them came from _Malfoy_. Harry was reeling.

 

“And o’ course, there’s the best fer last! The nursery!”

 

Having already had his interest piqued by the snatches of conversation he had overheard, Harry was anticipating and dreading the final room of the house, and when he got there he knew he had been right to do so.

 

“Hagrid is that _a dragon? Again?_ Even after the whole Norbert scenario?”

 

Hagrid was hardly paying him any mind, already picking up the small dragon from the perch in the corner. It was constructed from several materials patched together in different colours, some in crispier states than the rest.

 

“Now- _yes_ , Nancy is _technically_ a dragon--”

 

“Hagrid, you can’t really be _technically_ a dragon, you’re either one or you’re not and she’s pretty clearly not a Puffskein--”

 

Hagrid ignored Harry’s interjection.

 

“But yeh see, Draco helped me when I was researchin’ how ter breed dragons! Turns out when yer parents name yeh Draco, yer a wee bit more inclined teh learn a bit ‘bout the creatures!” Hagrid chortled and picked Nancy up, easily cupping her in a massive hand, which Harry did have to admit made her seem slightly less threatening.

 

“So he cast some spells on the egg before it hatched, ter keep ‘er from growin’ too big fer the house, and ter keep ‘er from gettin’ too feisty an’ such. She’s a real lamb, she is, wouldna hurt a fly! So Draco’s been testin’ out spells an’ such’s reaction ter ‘er fire. It’s special like ‘er too yeh see- ‘e made it so ‘er fire, is like Fiendfyre! S’all to do wit-”

 

But Harry wasn’t listening. His brain was stuck on Fiendfyre. Malfoy and Fiendfyre. He’d seen one of his best friends die in Fiendfyre not five months ago, and here he was giving it to a baby dragon? That _Hagrid_ was caring for? Did he want to _kill_ Hagrid? What had he been _thinking_?

 

“Hagrid, Fiendfyre is _dangerous!_ What if she got loose? Fiendfyre burns _magic_ and this is Ho--” Harry was sputtering, completely aghast. “This is _Hogwarts, Hagrid._ What are you two _thinking_?!”

 

“Now I said it was _like_ Fiendfyre dinnae? It burns magic, but not _all_ magic, jus’ the one Draco marked! S’all for the tests fer his project! And Nancy’s a sweetheart, she _wouldna bern Hogwarts down,_ would yeh Nancy? No she wouldna! No she wouldna bern Hogwarts!”

 

Hagrid was nuzzling Nancy as he baby-talked her, and to Harry’s dismay, Nancy seemed to be shaking her tail in excitement and burrowing in and out of Hagrid’s beard.

 

Draco had given Hagrid a Fiendfyre-breathing dragon. Or at least turned the dragon Hagrid had somehow obtained into a Fiendfyre-breathing dragon. But _because_ it was from Draco, Hagrid seemed to think it was perfectly alright.

 

“D’yeh wanna hold ‘er ‘arry?” Hagrid asked, stretching out his dustbin-lid-sized hand out to him, Nancy curled up cozily it his palm, her pointy face looking at him curiously but ostensibly benign. She really did seem rather docile.

 

“Er-, no thanks, Hagrid. You’re alright.”

 

“Suit yerself. Now, let’s have ourselves a cuppa, shall we?” And with that, Hagrid left the nursery, Nancy still tucked into the crook of his hand.

 

Hermione could think Harry was obsessed all she wanted. This was too much, and Harry was going to get to the bottom of whatever Draco was up to, regardless of what she thought.

 

* * *

 

 

Harry might have been becoming slightly obsessed. Thankfully, Hermione was too involved with her school work or with Ron to pay him much mind, so Harry didn’t have to deal with the knowing looks she’d certainly send his way otherwise.

 

He began checking Malfoy’s dot out in the Marauder's Map whenever he got the chance to be alone, and he didn’t know where Malfoy was.

 

Sometimes, the dot with Malfoy’s name right below it was in a Professor’s office. Sometimes, it was at the library. Sometimes it was even in the kitchens. Sometimes, in the dungeons. But most of the time, the dot was on the same floor as their dorm room, two halls to the left and then one to the right, right in front of the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy teaching trolls how to do ballet.

 

It suddenly became abundantly clear that Draco Malfoy was working on repairing the Room of Requirement.

 

If his conversation with McGonagall was anything to go by, he must have been working on it over the summer as well, to little or no success, since the dot never disappeared from the map. Maybe the room’s unplottable magic had been burned by the Fiendfyre though. Was the fire still burning? How do you even go about checking to see if a raging magical fire has gone out, when you’d have to open the door and potentially unleash it on one of the world’s most magical structures to know?

 

Dizzy with the sudden realization, Harry put the map away, and went back to doing his Potions reading, trying to ignore the feeling of flames licking at his skin, which he knew weren’t there.

 

* * *

 

 

One night, after Hermione and Ron had made their way to his and Harry’s room under a flimsy pretense, Harry took out the map and saw that Malfoy was standing in front of the tapestry again. On an impulse, Harry shoved the map in his pocket and went to find him.

 

Harry found him three halls later, waving his wand at the tapestry. It looked as though he was running diagnostic spells, but for what exactly he was checking, Harry didn’t know.

 

Every few seconds, Malfoy would wave his wand again, and jot down something on a piece of parchment paper floating beside him. After a few minutes, he’d stopped and had turned to simply _feeling_ the tapestry with his hand, and Harry was forcibly reminded of that night out in the water with Dumbledore, and how the Headmaster had also had that light touch when feeling for the magic in the cave entrance. Malfoy was lightly running his fingers over the length of the wall end to end in fact, no longer just feeling the tapestry, and it was just as he turned to complete his run that he spotted Harry.

 

In his haste, he’d forgotten his invisibility cloak, because _of course he had, bloody idiot that he was._ He and Draco stared at each other for a beat, before Malfoy nodded his head at him.

 

“Potter”.

 

“Malfoy,” replied Harry, unintelligently. Rather than leave it at that, he continued.

 

“So, er- Hagrid told me about you helping him with his hut. And about, er- _Nancy_.”

 

Malfoy’s face was perfectly blank, as though he hadn’t heard him speak at all, but distantly, behind the grey of his eyes, Harry could see Malfoy calculating exactly what the response should be, when your former enemy comes up to you, mid-scans, to chat about a baby dragon.

 

“...He said he found the egg in the forest. Said he thought the Death Eaters might have planned to take dragons into battle, and that one of them must have lain an egg. Not sure what to believe really, but I couldn’t actually talk him into giving it up so I thought I’d- try to make it less dangerous.”

 

“And you decided to do that by giving it _Fiendfyre_?”

 

Malfoy flinched at Harry’s accusing tone. He immediately became several degrees cooler than he had been. Harry had hardly noticed that Malfoy had been rather relaxed around him at all just before then.

 

“If you _must_ know, Potter, it’s only a _derivative_ of Fiendfyre. It possesses some of the original fire’s properties, without the inherently dangerous-to-magic qualities, same as Nancy. It is a complex matter which I am quite positive you’re too stupid to understand anyway, so why don’t you bugger off, and leave me to deal with the big, bad, fire, eh?”

 

The little speech had had Harry’s hackles rising with every pompous word coming out of Malfoy’s thin-lipped little mouth, but when he’d gotten to the bit about the big, bad, fire, Harry could’ve sworn his voice had shaken, just ever so slightly.

 

It took the wind right out of his sails. His shoulders slumped, and he faced the floor.

 

“...You’re right. I don’t get it. I’m just worried- for Hagrid, for the school," he raised his head once more and locked gazes with Malfoy. As always, there was an almost alchemical reaction that brought out something petty and belligerent in him, and his momentary compassion left him, just as suddenly as it had appeared. "Maybe you wouldn’t understand _that,_ being a Death Eater and all _.”_

 

Malfoy’s posture went from the familiar defensive posturing of their youths to ice-cold, and tight as a drum. He stalked the short length of the hallway very quickly to Harry, who was trying very hard not to shirk back, fingers itching to reach for his wand, but not necessarily wishing to escalate the encounter further. Malfoy raised his hand to him, his long pointer finger very close to his face, although Harry noticed he held the wand within his grasp in such a way that it was pointing off to the side, incongruously non-threateningly, as though Malfoy was also reticent to escalate their argument to an actual duel.

 

“ _Don’t you ever dare to imply that I do not care about this school ever again, Potter,”_ his eyes gleamed brightly in his anger, pinning Harry to the spot where he stood. _“_ Don’t you _ever_ dare _._ ”

 

They stayed like that for a beat, Malfoy looking straight into Harry’s eyes with little more than pure hatred and Harry glaring back out of sheer stubbornness, then Malfoy took his cold fury, tightly coiled shoulders and his dangerous eyes, and left Harry alone with Barnabas and the dancing trolls.

 

Harry tried to tell himself that he didn’t feel as though he had hit below the belt, but neither he nor the trolls were very convinced.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who has kept up with this story so far, especially those of you who have left kudos or comments! Next installment coming out next Friday :^)


	5. The Restricted Section

After their encounter in front of the Room of Requirement, Harry decided not to openly confront Malfoy again. He could hardly understand what it was that had pushed him to bolt to of the common room and to Malfoy that night, but he could admit that in retrospect, it wasn’t his brightest moment. 

 

His frustration at the inevitably antagonizing nature of every encounter he would ever have with Malfoy was not enough to deter him from tracking Malfoy’s movements however, as he was still unconvinced of the fact that Malfoy was no longer a threat. 

 

He still refrained from checking the Marauder's Map in front of Ron and Hermione, not wanting to invite concern or suspicion into his harmless investigation into Malfoy's doings, but any chance he got to himself he’d be pouring over it, looking for that all-too-familiar dot.

 

Malfoy it seemed, was also looking to steal some time to be alone; where before their confrontation Malfoy had often been found with some of their professors, or surrounded by other students in the library (not interacting with them it seemed, but at least in their vicinity), he could now be seen almost exclusively in an abandoned classroom in the dungeon. Within that room, the dot hardly ever moved, although Harry did catch him pacing a few times. Harry thought about what that room might be hiding, but he couldn't conceive of it being anything other than an evil lair. 

 

Once, when Malfoy had been in his common room window seat, Harry decided to go take a look at the dungeon room, in an attempt to uncover whatever it was that Malfoy was getting up to all alone in the dungeon.

 

Once there, he found it locked, and no  _ Alohomora _ could spell the door open. 

 

At the first sign of an obstacle, Harry had gotten a familiar heat in his chest. Vindication, at the seemingly irrefutable proof that Malfoy was up to something nefarious that he wanted to hide away in the bowels of the school. 

 

Even stronger than that, the low-simmering of adrenaline that came with a slowly unfolding mystery. With a challenge. 

 

He had stood in front of the door under the invisibility cloak for a long while, simultaneously revelling in the feeling, and chastising himself for wanting it so much. For  _ needing  _ it, after years of war and mystery, and the inevitable suffering and strife that had come with it.  

 

He felt, as he often did when he considered his post war life, a lingering guilt. As though, despite the many difficult lessons war had taught him, he hadn’t really learnt anything and that he was squandering the gift of life he had been given by falling back into dangerous or unproductive habits. 

 

Although he tried to close his heart and ears to it, the truth was that the dead would often whisper to him. Even now, in one ear he could hear the ever-cautious, ever-weary voice of Remus, telling him to leave well enough alone, and to believe the best in even your enemies. In the other, Fred and Sirius inciting him to mischief, reprimanding his hesitation in front of a glorious adventure and the possibility of wanton rule-breaking. 

 

He could often hear Dumbledore telling him not to pity the dead, but the Headmaster’s wise words were difficult to live up to, and he frequently lamented those he had lost so early, just as much as he pitied those they had left behind. He pitied himself first and foremost in the early hours of the selfish morning, when his nightmares’ lingering sensations wouldn’t let him shake off the endless sense of loss, and fear, and despair long enough to fall back to sleep, disturbed though it may be. 

 

At this moment, it wasn’t self-pity that gripped him though; it was undiluted excitement in the face of an oncoming adventure. Or at least the potential of an adventure. A lifetime of people now gone were still whispering caution in his ears, but Harry had never been one to ignore the call to adventure...

 

Shaking off the contradictory advice from the ghosts in his head, Harry stared at the door and tried to focus only on his gut instincts and nothing more, as they had served him well all his life. 

 

He stared for a long time, standing across from the door under the invisibility cloak, mindless of the first-years that occasionally passed him by unawares, going to their rooms. 

 

He could make the choice to let it all go then, he realized. He could accept that the door was just a door, and that perhaps Malfoy was just a different person that he had known him to be. That was a one of the choices he could make.

 

He stared at the door and tried to make that option sound like a real possibility, but his heartbeat refused to slow from its excited pace in front of the mysterious locked room, no matter how long he stared.

 

Eventually, Harry turned around and went back to the common room, still pretending his mind hadn’t already been made the first time  _ Alohomora _ bounced lightly off of the strong wood of the door.

 

* * *

 

 

The next day, Harry decided to research unlocking spells. 

 

_ Not just because of the room in the dungeon _ , he told himself,  _ but because it really seems like a handy skill to have _ . 

 

And it  _ was  _ true, if not the whole of it. He thought of the knife Sirius had given him, and felt the sharp pang of loss at both the godfather he had only just begun to know when he had all-too-quickly lost him, and the loss of even what little mementos he had left Harry behind. 

 

Having grown up with virtually no possessions to speak of, he was almost embarrassed by how strongly he felt the loss of the material things he had lost along the way. It seemed vain and materialistic to mourn the loss of things like Sirius' knife, and his Nimbus 2000, and his Albus Dumbledore chocolate frog card (which he realized he had lost sometime in the Forest of Dean), especially when he thought of the lives that were lost as well. But the embarrassment didn't stop him from feeling the loss deeply. 

 

On nights where sleep eluded him completely, he would sit in front of his trunk and pull out the few non-academic possessions it held within, trying to ground himself in the real world through what little items he would leave behind if he really faded away. His fingers gently ran over the soft silky flow of the Invisibility Cloak, the polished word and prickly bristles of his Firebolt, the sharp poke of his Hungarian Horntail figurine’s tail, the warm leather cover of the photo album Hagrid had given him all those years ago, the cool glass and cutting edges of the Two-Way Mirror shard.

 

Physical proof that Harry Potter had not just been the Boy Who Lived, but that he had had a  _ life.  _ Between the familiar textures in his hands, and the ever-present snoring from Ron’s bed, Harry could more often than not be soothed enough for a few hours of sleep.

 

He knew that his grief over Sirius’ melted knife was not the driving force behind his sudden interest in unlocking spells, but it  _ was _ a factor. 

 

In the end he had simply gone to the library and checked out the first three books he saw that covered unlocking spells and went off to his room to go through them, hoping Ron and Hermione weren’t currently occupying it.

 

Finding that they fortunately had not, he settled in to read  _ Locks, Rocks and Stocks: How to Get In and Out Of Where You Need to Be,  _ only for them to burst in only a few pages in, furiously tugging at each other’s clothes. 

 

They had yet to notice Harry sitting by the window, and he debated the pros and cons of announcing his presence to them. He was about to decide in favour of teasing them as opposed to more kindly leaving without alerting them of their intrusion, when Ron got Hermione’s shirt off, and Harry quickly decided that telling off your best friends for being randier than a pair of Blast-Ended Skrewts in the springtime when one of them was wearing little more than a very flimsy brassiere would be more mortifying for him than it would be for them. 

 

He grabbed his book and decided to read elsewhere, leaving the room in as quiet a rush as he could manage. 

 

Harry was about to make his way out to the courtyard, thinking that an afternoon reading by the Great Lake in the late summer warmth actually sounded quite pleasant when he ran into Luna, on the third floor.

 

“Hello Harry,” she greeted him in her breathy voice. “Off to study?” 

 

She looked curiously at the book in his hands. Harry tried to cover the title as covertly as possible, somehow feeling caught in the act, although he told himself repeatedly that there was nothing incriminating about reading a book on unlocking charms.

 

“Er- yeah, sort of, I thought I might head out to the Great Lake and have a read. Enjoy the last of the summer and whatnot.” Harry rubbed at the back of his neck, striving to look more innocent than he felt. “What are you up to then?” 

 

Luna just smiled faintly at him. “I was going to meet Ginny and Neville by the Great Lake as well actually. Ginny forgot to grab a blanket and I said I would go back and fetch one. Would you like to join us, Harry? Or perhaps you would prefer to be alone?”

 

She stared at him expectantly as though his answer merited deep reflection. Harry tried not to feel on-the-spot.

 

“Sure, Luna, that sounds nice. I can grab us some pudding in the kitchens while you fetch the blanket and meet you there if you like?”

 

Luna nodded distractedly and smiled back at him. “Sounds lovely, Harry. We’re seated right by where the Giant Squid likes to sunbathe its tentacles.” 

 

And with that Luna went off to her common room, leaving Harry feeling, as always, as though Luna could sense much more than she let on. He shook off the lingering sense of exposure and ran down to the kitchens, thinking he could perhaps swing by Malfoy’s dungeon room on his way there.

 

The first charm he had bookmarked had no effect, but Harry simply grinned and dashed off to tickle a pear, content enough to put the mystery off for now in order to spend a lighthearted afternoon eating cakes by the lake. He did have three books to go after all, and all the time in the world to get to the bottom of Malfoy’s mystery dungeon.

 

* * *

 

A few days after his impromptu picnic with Ginny, Neville and Luna (which had been incredibly pleasant and had served to remind him that he could stand to spend more time with his friends, despite Ron and Hermione’s preoccupation with one another) Harry had finished combing through his first selection of locking spell books.

 

It had been surprisingly interesting. He realized a few chapters into the first book that he was quite unused to doing research on subjects that were unrelated to school or his imminent death, but that there really  _ was  _ something quite nice about learning something interesting just for the sake of learning. He vowed to tease Hermione less about her bookishness in the future. 

 

He was going to get a new book in the library after he had finished writing out all of the important information in  _ Open Sesame: A Thousand and One Tales of Doors,  _ when he caught sight of Malfoy, sauntering into the Restricted Section. 

 

Madam Pince had barely glanced up from her records, either used to the sight of Malfoy wandering about in there, or too focused to notice that Malfoy was up to no good, poking his pointy nose where it didn't belong. 

 

Assuming it was the latter, Harry pulled out his Invisibility Cloak from his bookbag ( _ he wouldn’t let Draco sodding Malfoy catch him without it again _ ) and wrapped it quickly around himself as we dashed off behind Malfoy, into the restricted section, taking care to slide in after him as the door was still slowly closing behind him.

 

As Malfoy settled in, Harry took a minute to inspect his surroundings. 

 

The restricted section, like many things around the school, had changed ever-so-slightly from how Harry remembered it. For one, Harry didn’t remember there ever being a little reading section, tucked away at the back corner, nor did he recall the books being so organized. 

 

The last time he had been in there he had been doing research for the Triwizard Tournament. He recalled looking for what seemed like ages for the books he needed, and getting frustrated at the lack of results, but now there seemed to be floating signs in front of different shelves. 

 

Some had straightforward descriptions on them such as “Advanced Transmogrification”, “Medicinal Magic - Blood”  and “Temperamental Potions - Water Based”. Some of them were labeled significantly less academically as “Nasty Stuff, Why Does a School Have This - Discuss Further”, “Dangerous Knowledge - Relocate Behind Counter”, “Worth Hundreds of Galleons, but Useless - Relocate or Sell” and hilariously enough, a small but full shelf labeled “This is just pornography - Discuss Further?”

 

Malfoy had finished dropping off his cloak and book bag on the table in the reading nook and was now making his way to the second shelf closest to the table, where the books weren’t labeled. He swiped his wand at the top shelf and the fifty or so books resting there gently floated down onto the tabletop, after which Malfoy settled in to read, a notebook and a quill open and off to the side. 

 

Harry thought, after a few minutes of watching Malfoy flip through the pages and take notes, that perhaps he was either doing some research for Care of Magical Creatures, or planning a heist (as the book he was reading was labeled  _ Nefarious Nifflers and Other Profitable Creatures  _ it could go either way) but then Malfoy had flipped to the end of the book, jotted something down and sent the book flying to a shelf near the entrance of the restricted area labeled “Care of Magical Creatures - Wizarding Uses” with a casual flick of the wrist.

 

Harry suddenly realized that Malfoy wasn’t researching. He was  _ cataloguing _ . 

 

Harry was dumbfounded at the notion of Draco Malfoy, posh ex-Death Eater and persisting pain-in-his-ass, doing something as banal as cataloguing, but there it was. Harry shuffled closer to the table, intent on getting a closer look at Malfoy’s notes to confirm his suspicions,  when he accidentally nudged a bookshelf, causing it to rattle ever-so-slightly. Immediately, Malfoy’s eyes snapped up to attention, and Harry stood deathly still, not even daring to draw breath as Malfoy surveyed the ostensibly empty space in front of him. Just when Harry was convinced that Malfoy was going to stand up and investigate further, Malfoy leaned back into his chair, and simply rooted around in his bag for something. Harry waited, anticipating the probability that Malfoy was looking for his wand to cast some diagnostic spell that might give him away, but unable to leave without Malfoy seeing the door separating the Restricted section from the rest of the Hogwarts library open. He considered risking making further noise in favour of moving behind Malfor where he wouldn’t think to cast a spell, but then Malfoy’s hand reemerged from his back, holding only a small, silver hand mirror.

 

_ Vain git. Nearly gave me a bleeding heart attack. _

 

Malfoy brought the mirror up to his face, smoothed a single displaced lock of chin length white-blond hair behind his left ear, and put the mirror down onto the table to continue his page-flipping. 

 

Harry waited for a beat, torn between attempting to leave now that Malfoy’s focus was once again captured by the book in front of him after having narrowly avoided being caught, and going to the table to see if there was really nothing more nefarious going on than the inexplicable cataloguing. 

 

In the end, as always, Harry’s curiosity won the brief internal debate, and he went over to the table, leaning over the far side to peek at Malfoy’s parchment.

 

Out of the deafening silence of the Restricted Section, Malfoy suddenly speaking rang clear as a bell.

 

“Stalking me again, are you Potter?” 


	6. The Visibility Mirror

  
Malfoy’s words startled Harry so much he very nearly let out a squeak. Instead, he remained half crouched over the table, eyes as wide as a deer’s in headlights.

Malfoy _had_ to be taking a shot in the dark; he couldn’t possibly know he was actually there.

“I _see_ you Potter. Looming over the table under that damned Invisibility Cloak of yours. Now, take it off and explain yourself before I decide that I don’t care for an explanation after all and just go straight to the Headmistress to report you for harassment.”

Harry looked at Malfoy, and noticed we wasn’t looking him in the eyes, as he would be if he could see him, but rather at his left cheekbone, just close enough. How on earth he could see him was completely beyond Harry.

Intrigued, and perhaps slightly daunted at the idea of being told off to the Headmistress only weeks into the school year, Harry slid off the cloak.

“How did you know I was there? I know you can’t _actually_ see under the Invisibility Cloak.” He phrased the latter as a statement, but the underlying question was implicit. _Could_ Malfoy actually see under the cloak?

Malfoy glared at him coolly, eye-to-eye this time.

“I am the one owed an explanation here, _Potter_. Why are you here, and what do you want with me?”

_So much for avoiding confrontation_ , thought Harry. He prevaricated for a moment, biding his time by folding the Invisibility Cloak in his hands, wary of Malfoy’s inquisitive gaze on it.

“I saw you come in here when I was on my way to return a book. I saw a Malfoy breaking a school rule and I decided to investigate.”

Malfoy pursed his lips at him, clearly unconvinced despite the story not being all that far off from the truth. The _real_ truth of it was that Harry didn’t particularly care about the rule-breaking aspect of it all, as much as he did about the ever-present curiosity and suspicion that Malfoy incited in him.

“Visiting the Restricted Section in and of itself isn’t against the rules, Potter, as you very well know. It’s only against the rules if you do not have a Professor’s permission slip for doing so, which as a matter of fact, I do. Is the word of a _filthy Death Eater_ enough, or should I dig it out of my bag for you?”

Harry stared down Malfoy for a beat, before giving a slight, grudging shake of the head. If he hadn’t had a permission slip Madame Pince would certainly have stopped Malfoy from waltzing in as casually as he had. Harry stared at him for a moment longer before his curiosity got the better of him, and he blurted out, “Are you seriously cataloguing the Restricted Section then?”

For a moment, Harry thought he would get the same snippiness he had been privy to when he had asked about how it came to be that Malfoy saw him from under his invisibility cloak, but in the end, Malfoy leaned back in his chair and answered on a sigh. “Yes, I am. What of it, Potter?”

He looked at him, pale blond eyebrows raised at him in defensive question. Harry struggled to respond with anything other than the _okay, but why?_ that was waiting in the back of his throat. In the seconds that it took Harry to get his bearings, he could see Malfoy staring at him calculatingly, when he suddenly spoke.

“I’ll tell you why if you let me look at your cloak.”

Harry immediately bristled.

“Definitely not, Malfoy.”

Malfoy simply stared and shrugged at him elegantly.

“Alright then, Potter. Bugger off before I report you to the Headmistress, then.”

Harry was about to do just that when he remembered how Malfoy had known Harry was there, even when he had been beneath the cloak, and the combined curiosity over that and the mysterious cataloguing won him over.

“I’ll let you look at it for as long as it takes you to answer my questions, and then I’m taking it back and leaving. You don’t get to try it on,” he tacked on at the end, unwilling to have an invisible Malfoy near him, let alone an invisible Malfoy in possession of one of his most treasured possessions.

Malfoy acquiesced with an elegant bowing of the head, and gestured at Harry to take a seat in the chair opposite his, across the small table.

Harry reluctantly sat, and laid the Invisibility Cloak on the table between them, where Malfoy immediately reached out to fondle it.

“How did you know I was here, then?”

Malfoy was absorbed by the cloak in his long, pale fingers.

“I saw you, obviously. Well, after I heard you rattle the bookshelf of course, that’s also typically a good sign that your clumsy arse is around.”

Harry rolled his eyes, rankled by Malfoy’s antagonistic drawl, as usual.

“ _How_ did you see me, you pompous prat? I was under the Invisibility Cloak the entire time.”

Malfoy was now holding a small section of the cloak up to the light, inspecting the liquid looking material up close. He took a second before answering.

“I saw you in my mirror.”

Harry was confused. He had not noticed any movement in the mirror as he had been leaning over the table. He said as much to Malfoy, accusing him of lying, and getting ready to leave, if he wouldn’t be getting honest answers to his questions anyway.

Malfoy sneered at him. “Well _you_ wouldn’t have seen anything in the mirror, would you? You didn’t know there was anything to look out for, since you had no reason to think it was anything more than an ordinary mirror, nor that your reflection would appear in it if you were under the Invisibility Cloak and figured there would be nothing to reflect.”

Harry frowned at Malfoy, silently demanding an elaboration on that statement.

Malfoy looked at him briefly before returning his attention to the Invisibility Cloak on the table.

“...The mirror is enchanted. I was working on it during the end of the war. It’s a combination of a few spells that are used in Foe Glasses, Sneakoscopes and Mad---,” he caught himself, but Harry finished the phrase for him, furious.

“Mad-Eye Moody’s eye, was it? I’m guessing Umbridge must have been a regular guest in your house of horrors then? Or did you enjoy spending time in that foul creature’s office, guarded by the stolen eye of a brave man?”

Malfoy glared right back at Harry, both equally angry with the other it seemed.

“Yes, I based myself on Auror Moody’s eye, but no, Potter, as a matter of fact I _didn’t_ enjoy either _Umbridge_ , her visits to the home I was forced to share with the _Dark Lord_ , or her _bloody cat plates_. I realize that her having taken Moody’s eye might be a little tough to bear for your Gryffindor sensibilities, but I had to bear Lord Vo-,” a slight tremor interrupted his cutting diatribe. “I had to bear having _Voldemort_ permanently soiling my childhood home. So you’ll forgive me if I chose to be _pragmatic_ about the ordeal and tried to keep myself busy, regardless of the nature of the objects with which I did that.”

They stared each other down, Harry trying to pick from a number of hostile responses lying in wait the the tip of his tongue, before memories of the fallen auror derailed him.

Something about the fact that Malfoy described his use of Moody’s eye as pragmatic struck a chord in Harry; it struck him as a very Moody thing to do. No sentimentality, just a pragmatic use of anything you had at your disposal to defeat your foes. Constant vigilance.

Maybe it was the fact that Malfoy had said Voldemort’s name as well, despite the fact that it very obviously took him a considerable effort to do so, that also struck a chord within Harry, and made him reluctant to escalate their fight.

Harry and Malfoy were still glaring at one another for a few seconds, but Harry backed down from the argument. “How does it work then, that mirror of yours, and why didn’t I see myself in it?”

Malfoy accepted the momentary détente and went back to inspecting the cloak, although decidedly more on edge than he had been previously.

“You didn’t see yourself because you didn’t know what to look for. The mirror has components from the Foe Glass in that it shows your foes, yes, but one of the aspects I used from Auror Moody’s eye beyond its ability to see invisible things is the element of suspicion,” he glanced up a Harry momentarily before returning to his inspection of the stitching. “It didn’t take me long to uncover the spells that had been cast on the magical eye, but for a long time they didn’t make sense, because when I cast the spells on a looking glass for further testing, I couldn’t see disillusioned items through it, unless I already knew what the items were,” his tone was turning from hostile to academic, as though he were giving an oral report on research findings to a professor or colleague. Harry was sure Malfoy was unaware of this.

“I realized that of course Moody couldn’t have _known_ what to look for all the times he saw anything with his magical eye, because that would defeat the purpose of a magical eye that can spot invisible things, doesn’t it? If you already know they’re there? But then I realized that _suspicion_ was the missing ingredient,” he looked up at Harry and gesticulated lightly as he explained. Harry was incongruously reminded of Hermione, and her similar animated gesturing when describing some particularly interesting factoid, or a particularly dull text that interested no one but her. His brain’s unconscious comparison between one of his best friends and his oldest rival was jarring.

“At first, I couldn’t figure out a way to make the looking glass _be suspicious_ , for a lack of better terminology, but I did briefly manage to have it feed off of _my_ suspicion. If I was suspicious when looking through it I could see the disillusioned objects, but then as soon as my suspicions were confirmed or denied, the objects became invisible to me once again. Of course being suspicious on demand is not always easy, curiosity and suspicion being close enough to muddle but different enough that the magic didn’t recognize it.”

Malfoy was using the corner of the Invisibility Cloak to cover and uncover his hand repeatedly now, and Harry briefly considered telling him off for breaking the no-wearing-the-cloak rule, but realized that it was probably childish of him to enforce that rule over a few momentarily invisible digits. Malfoy then grabbed the mirror and held it at such an angle that he could see what was happening with his opposite hand under the cloak.

“That’s when I realized that I could use the magic of _Sneakoscopes_ to permanently imbue the looking glass with a magical replacement for suspicion. And voilà. The Visibility Mirror.”

“So, in the middle of a war wherein your house was infested with Death Eaters and Voldemort himself, you created a mirror that can see invisible things,” Harry summarized, slightly impressed that Draco Malfoy had created such a complicated piece of magic, but trying desperately not to let it come across in his tone.

“Well, mostly. It works much better than my previous attempts, certainly, but the magic of the three items is slightly incompatible with one another. It can still only show me what I suspect is there if I have a general idea of what the threat could be, but I can have much more generic suspicions now for it to work, such as a suspicion that it is an object, or a person, and then once my suspicions are confirmed the image stays on the mirror. Indicative of course that the magical suspicion of the Sneakoscopes is not enough to sustain it and that perhaps more research needs to be done on emotion-replicating spells, but that’s always been a job for the Department of Mysteries, hasn’t it?”

Malfoy’s high brow was furrowed, as though he was lost in magical calculations and spells, momentarily. He then shot Harry a haughty glance. “I’m sure I could figure it out, of course, and create a perfect Visibility Mirror, but I just haven’t had the time.” His nose was very high up in the air. Harry rolled his eyes at the cocky proclamation, but he also somehow didn’t doubt it. “Particularly, as you mentioned, because I was in the middle of a war, and of course I didn’t want anyone in my house to discover my projects. ”

“What, you didn't think it would help you get in good with Voldemort?”

Draco looked positively grey for a moment, before his face took on a sort of defeated defensiveness, his angry furrowed brow looming above his gaunt features.

“Potter, do you _seriously_ believe that I had any desire to ‘get in good’ with the Dark Lord?”

Harry was slightly shocked at the bare-faced question, but he decided to give the question its due consideration.

Malfoy had always been a git, and prejudiced enough, but Harry knew that he had only followed Voldemort because of his loyalty to his family first and foremost. Harry could see Malfoy being up to no good, but he understood now what Remus and Sirius had meant when they said that not everyone who is evil was a Death Eater. Perhaps not every Death Eater was a crazy lunatic like Bellatrix or the Carrows either. He thought of Snape, who for so many years served as a spy, working closely with Voldemort but never actually giving him allegiance.

Harry looked at Malfoy for a beat. He could believe that Malfoy was closer to being a Snape than he was to being a Bellatrix. He could certainly believe that Malfoy had wanted to keep things to himself in any case.

“Alright then, last question and then I’m taking my invisibility cloak back: why are you cataloguing the restricted section?”

  
Malfoy’s lips thinned marginally, his face serious yet lighter than it had just been, all at once. “I owe the school a thousand hours of community service, Potter. This kills a few of those hours.”

Harry suddenly felt pretty thick for not putting two and two together, considering he had been at the trial that sentenced Malfoy to those community service hours in the first place. He just hadn’t imagined that “reconstruction and reparations” extended to cataloguing barely-read books.

“Er-, right,” he said, as dumbly as he felt. “I guess I just- didn’t think that that included this kind of work.”

Malfoy rolled his eyes at him once again. “The section had been a mess since long before the war, for your information, but the Carrows stole some of the books in here during the time they taught here in our seventh year- not that we were here for it.” Malfoy grimaced lightly at the table. “Some of the books made their way to the Manor, and when I first came to return them and begin my community service, I realized that there was no rhyme or reason to the section at all. Something about the way t---,” he cut himself off abruptly.

He looked at the shelves and instead of finishing his previous thought he just carried on with a more dispassionate explanation.

“I realized the books needed sorting out so I told the Headmistress I would take care of it, and that was that. It’s been about 60 hours of my life so far, with a good few to go. Not a bad way to knock out a few hours out of a thousand, really.”

He looked back to Harry, his bored tone of voice contrasting the challenging gleam in his silver eyes. They stared at each other for a beat, that turned into a long minute where neither wanted to be the first to break eye contact.

In the end, Harry rolled his eyes away, and gathered his invisibility cloak up in his book bag once again.

“Whatever, Malfoy,” he said rising to leave, devoid of anything better to say after having been caught spying and having been given a perfectly reasonable explanation for Malfoy’s behaviour. He realized that this was not his most shining moment, but he was hard-pressed to admit to any wrongdoing on his part when Malfoy was involved.

He simply turned, ignoring the gleam of vindication and satisfaction in Malfoy’s eyes despite the still tightly-pressed lips below them, and walked out of the Restricted Section.

Madame Pince gave him a stern talking to about entering the section without professorial approval when she caught him leaving, and he thought he imagined Malfoy’s soft snickering in the background the entire time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It will please some of you to know that I am now working with an outline instead of mostly making things up as I go! This outline however, is 12 pages of bullet points and seems to have turned out to be 5000 words long, and indicative of a need to split the story in two parts, both of which will likely be close to 100K SOOOO


	7. New Beginnings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a little more introspective that the story has been so far, but Harry needed sometime to ponder, couldn't stop him. Next chapter has more action, promise.

It was a warm mid-October afternoon, and Harry was reading on a rock by the Great Lake, ignoring as best he could the gaggle of ogling First Years sitting a couple dozen meters away.

They were the first group that had dared to get as close to Harry as they were now; the rest of the First Years had proven themselves to be slightly too awestruck to approach any of the returning Eighth Years, particularly after a few weeks of war gossip making the rounds even amongst the youngest muggle-born students.

It pleased Harry to note that if they were going to hero-worship the older students that fought in the war that they weren’t just hero-worshipping him alone, but that was slim comfort when seven or eight eleven year-olds were muttering about you only a few yards away.

Harry turned his head to look at the First Years directly and they quickly turned away from him, quiet and still as though they could fool him into thinking they hadn’t just been gossiping about him, if only they froze in place quickly and convincingly enough. Harry found it hard to be annoyed at the children, who frankly were rather more adorable than he thought he and his friends had been at eleven. Perhaps he was getting old.

He _felt_ old, despite only being eighteen, which was discomforting, as in the back of his mind he realized that he never truly _expected_ to grow old. He hadn’t for as long as he could remember, anyway.

He looked at the group again and was surprised to see that it comprised of three Slytherins, two Hufflepuffs, a Ravenclaw and a Gryffindor.

Harry lay the book down on his chest and gazed at the clouds.

It seemed that grouping the students by year had had a bigger impact than he realized.

He thought back to how he had been as a First Year, scared out of his mind that he wouldn’t make any friends, and that he might miss out on having any real, true friends because of the house he was sorted into.

The clouds moved in the sky above him, carried ever forward by the unseasonably warm autumn wind.

Being sorted as a Gryffindor had defined his life, no two ways about it. Back in his day-- and _Merlin_ did he ever feel old thinking back to all of this as _back in his day_ \-- you would never have seen this sort of inter-house friendship, particularly not among First Years.

Harry thought about his friends in other houses. Luna, who he loved dearly but had only really gotten to know through Ginny. Cedric, who he had only gotten to know because a crazed man wanted him dead, and who died shortly after they had finally put their rivalry aside long enough to become friendly. Cho, who he had never really been friends with so much as awkwardly infatuated with, an awkward crush from afar…

Aside from that small number, he could count Susan Bones and Padma Patil as Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw friends perhaps. Friends seemed like a stretch, but their time in Dumbledore’s Army had certainly brought them closer to Harry than they would have been otherwise.

He looked back at the whispering First Years once more, accidentally catching the eye of a Slytherin boy who flushed deeply at the eye contact, and who promptly looked away towards the Gryffindor girl at his side. They were pretending to have been very engrossed in conversation this entire time, but Harry could tell, even from as far away as he was, that they were both just repeating what looked like “oh my God, oh my God, oh my God” over and over again, their hands clasped tightly between them. Harry smiled and looked at their tiny hands before turning his gaze and thoughts back to the sky above him.

The clouds had slowed their crawl across the bright blue sky, and were just barely moving above him. A smaller cloud started to break off from a larger cluster until it slowly but surely stood alone in the sky.

Where would Harry be today if the Sorting Hat had not listened to him that day seven years ago?

_Are you sure?_ The Sorting Hat had asked him. _You could be great, you know, it’s all here in your head, and Slytherin will help you on the way to greatness, no doubt about that._

Harry had been sure then, and he was sure now that he had been meant to be in Gryffindor, with Ron and Hermione and Neville and Dean and Seamus and the Weasleys and all of his Gryffindor family. He couldn’t imagine where he would be today without them.

But what if he hadn’t been?

What really did he have to base himself off of that day on the stool, with the Sorting Hat atop his head. Ron had told him that Voldemort was a Slytherin, but more than that piece of information, there had been one thing influencing his thoughts, more so than any other.

Draco Malfoy.

Harry frowned at the clouds.

As a kid he had had no reason to take Ron’s word over Malfoy’s other than the fact that Malfoy had been acting like a spoiled brat at Madam Malkin’s, and again when they had been on their way to being sorted. But what if he had met a _nice_ Slytherin at the shops?

What if Draco Malfoy himself had been the Malfoy all the teachers seemed to think he was now, _then_?

Harry tried to think of what that might have been like. If he had taken Malfoy’s hand in friendship, would Harry have been changed? Would Dumbledore still have taken him under his wing if he hadn’t been a Gryffindor? Would he have _wanted_ Dumbledore to take a special interest in him if Malfoy had been there, whispering nasty things about Dumbledore into his ear?

Would he have had any real friends, or would they all have seen him as a tool to get farther ahead? From what he had seen, that was all that Slytherins were to one another; connections, tools, allies, but certainly not _friends_.

He risked another glance at the First Years, who were packing up now that the sun was slowly sinking in the sky. The Slytherin boy had his hand stretched out to the Gryffindor girl, to pull her up. He ended up pulling her so hard that they both ended up losing their balance and falling right back to the ground, screaming with laughter.

Harry quickly raised his book to his face to hide the snickering he couldn’t quite smother. The laughter from the First Years grew dimmer and dimmer as they made their way back to the castle. Harry put the book back down on his chest, a smile still lingering on his lips.

Maybe he was wrong about Slytherins. He didn’t really know any besides Malfoy, and did he even know Malfoy at all?

The smile slipped off of Harry’s lips as he stared at the purpling skies.

He thought he knew who Malfoy was: a spoiled little bigot who ran and tattled to mummy and daddy for the slightest inconveniences. A bully, and an arrogant prig, and a _Death Eater._

Harry frowned. He tried to think if he had ever considered Malfoy as being more than that. Despite how obsessed with Malfoy Hermione had thought him to be, Harry realized that he never _really_ thought of Malfoy beyond those few labels. He doubted Malfoy had thought of him as more than just the Golden Boy either, now that he thought about it.

The war had taught Harry that it was easy to hate something you don’t understand, as Voldemort’s side had failed to understand Muggles and Muggelborn wizards, and had obstinately refused to try to understand because their Pureblood values came first and foremost.

Harry struggled now to think of Malfoy as more than that and was surprised to realize that quite a few things sprung to mind.

Malfoy was smart. He didn’t use his cleverness for anything other than evil, it seemed, but there was no denying that he was smart, when he and Hermione were often evenly matched at the top of the class.

Malfoy was also good with magic. Talented. He had to be to repair the Vanishing Cabinet, and invent the Visibility Mirror, and even those dumb Potter Stinks badges. He had conjured a _snake_ in their second year duel.

_And, you know, he also rebuilt Hogwarts,_ whispered a tiny voice at the back of his mind. _He did do that, too._

He remembered Hagrid referring to Malfoy as a good kid. Harry couldn’t conceive of anything more ludicrous at the time. He tried to think about that possibility again, keeping in mind what he had seen of Malfoy this year, especially in regards to his behaviour around the professors. His interactions with Hagrid and McGonagall stood out in sharp relief against what he had thought of as being Malfoy in his mind. He thought back to Professor Flitwick laughing as Malfoy had bent low to whisper in his ear.

He thought of their practically civil encounter in the Restricted Section, and how Malfoy hadn’t actually told on him ( _Merlin, perhaps he wasn’t that old after all, if he still feared being tattled on_ ), but rather had had an only barely antagonistic conversation with him. The first actual conversation Harry could remember having with Malfoy ever, since their previous exchanges had only ever been throwing insults at one another, if not throwing hexes.

Harry didn’t know if Malfoy was a _good kid_ or not; he couldn’t forget an entire lifetime of confrontation and hatred long enough to give the thought much weight. He realized however, as the first stars of the night started to pierce through the dying light of day and settled into the darkening sky, that now that the war was over, he should be willing to do as the First Years had; start fresh.

He could relearn that maybe Malfoy _was_ nothing more than a prissy git after all, and that their professors had all been duped, but he was struck with the sudden urge to at least give Malfoy the chance that he had never given him as children.

At least that would be going forward, and learning to live in the new world he had died to create. Perhaps then he wouldn’t feel as though he was failing at being a war survivor, or that he wasn’t letting down the dead, as he so often did when he was left alone with his thoughts.

He thought back to what he had said on the stand at Malfoy’s trial. At the time, after seeing hardened criminals take the stand, defending Voldemort and their pureblood ideals even beyond his inarguable defeat, Draco Malfoy had seemed jarringly different. He really had seemed like a lost kid. When Harry had said that the Wizengamot should take pity and forgive him, he had meant it. He had also meant it when he said that he forgave Malfoy, but he wasn’t sure if he still meant it now, when the Malfoy he saw was no longer the sallow faced broken boy he had been at the trial.

Harry was slightly ashamed of the thought. He didn’t want to think that he had forgiven Malfoy just because he had looked pitiful, or because in immediate comparison to the other Death Eaters he hadn’t seemed so bad. He didn’t want to think of himself as someone who forgave so conditionally and who forgot about forgiveness so quickly.

He thought of Dumbledore and Remus, and of Snape. How forgiveness had shaped those relationships. Harry wanted to live up to the people who had come before him. To the standards the people who had stood in as parents had set for him. It was just proving harder than he thought it should be, to be as good as everyone expected him to be. Too often Harry had wavered in his convictions in the past months.

He thought of the Battle of Hogwarts and how good it had felt to hurt those who had stood against him. He shamefully thought of the righteous pleasure he had derived from seeing Voldemort dead at his feet, dead by his own doing. He had never been more ashamed or afraid of what lurked inside him than when he thought about that moment, or about how gladly he would exact revenge on any of the Death Eaters that still roamed free, any Death Eater that had raised a wand against his chosen family. That had taken some of that family away.

He wondered again if perhaps the Sorting Hat had made a mistake after all, and he didn’t have more Slytherin in him than he cared to admit. His thoughts circled back to Malfoy somehow, and how he might be a completely different person if he had had Malfoy as a friend instead of Ron and his warm and loving family, and Hermione, and Neville, and all of his Gryffindor family.

He also thought about what Malfoy might have been like if he had had a friend in Harry. Hagrid calling Malfoy a “good kid” still rang in his ears.

Harry stayed by the lake long after the night had leeched all of the sun’s heat from the rock he was laying on, thinking of how different life might have been but for any number of things, and thinking of how different his life could be now. Eventually he picked up his forgotten book and went back inside, still thinking about how something as simple as a handshake could change the course of a lifetime.

And as he went those familiar steps back to the castle, Harry wondered how exactly one goes about extending a hand of friendship to someone you’re not sure you want to be friends with at all.


	8. Birthday Tea

After his afternoon at the Great Lake, Harry had slowly stopped checking the Marauder’s Map for Malfoy’s location. He was still curious as ever about what he might be getting up to, but the conversation he had had with Malfoy in the Restricted Section had made him realize that while curiosity and suspicion were indeed close enough to muddle, magic didn’t recognize them as being the same, and Harry could admit now that perhaps he wasn’t suspicious of Malfoy anymore, simply curious.

 

The revelation seemed profound somehow, in a way Harry wasn’t sure he was willing to address.

 

In any case, once he had realized that it wasn’t suspicion driving him to shadow Malfoy, he decided to back off. He still observed him across the Great Hall, and he couldn’t help to stare gobsmacked during Charms when Malfoy had caused Flitwick to laugh so hard Seamus had set his magical doily on fire, but after his introspective afternoon, Harry settled on trying to give Malfoy a second chance, and to spy on his every move didn’t seem like the best foundation for that.

 

It was because of this that when Hagrid invited Harry over for tea to celebrate Nancy’s 3rd month (Harry was amazed that that was apparently a thing to celebrate), he has caught unawares at seeing Malfoy walking towards Hagrid’s hut as well.

 

Malfoy was perhaps a few meters ahead of him at the most, and Harry wasn’t quite sure what he should do. Despite the fact that there was nothing in Malfoy’s general direction other than Hagrid’s hut, Harry was holding out hope that he was wrong, and that Malfoy was not also going to what boiled down to a baby dragon’s third month birthday party, but then he caught a glance at a small package in Malfoy’s right hand. 

 

Bloody git brought a  _ present _ to a dragon’s third month celebration, blast him.

 

Harry was slowly catching up to Malfoy, as the latter slowed his pace now that the hut was but a few yards away. Harry considered hanging back and waiting until Malfoy had already gone inside before making his presence known, but then felt like a bit of a coward for considering it.

 

“Oi, Malfoy!”

 

Malfoy immediately whipped around, his long blond hair and cloak spinning behind him.

 

“Potter, what the devil do yo--” 

 

Malfoy stopped halfway, as he realized that Harry was there for the same reason he was.

 

“Ah. Right.”

 

“Yeah.”

 

He seemed to be at a loss for words, and Harry realized that he himself hadn’t had much planned beyond just yelling out Malfoy’s name.

 

Malfoy spoke up again after a beat.

 

“Granger and Weasley joining us too, then?”

 

He spoke with no inflection, seemingly trying his best to make the question seem neutral, although Harry could tell by the tightness of his shoulders that he didn’t enjoy the idea of perhaps finding himself having tea with the Golden Trio and a baby dragon in the least.

 

Harry half-grinned at his clear discomfort and the sheer incongruousness of the imagery in his mind.

 

“Nah, they’re off snogging, or studying madly to make up for all the time they invest in devouring each other’s faces, no way to tell at this point. They met Nancy a couple of weeks ago though, they sent her their, er- best wishes.” 

 

Harry thought back to Hermione and Ron carrying a stack of books into his and Ron’s room, and their lighthearted debate over how best to wish a baby dragon a happy birthday when she was only three months old. 

 

The two had been settled crossed legged on Ron’s bed with the pile of books between them when they sent him off to Hagrid's by himself, ostensibly set on studying. Harry just hoped that when they inevitably decided to jump on one another they didn’t decide that the pile of books was too uncomfortable and made their way to Harry’s bed.

 

Harry frowned at the thought. It seemed all too likely, suddenly. He should have cast an Itching Hex on his sheets before he left, it would have made for a funny prank on the pair.

 

Malfoy was still standing stiffly in front of him, but his shoulders had relaxed from their tight clench somewhat, clearly relieved that he wouldn't have  _ three _ of his most hated rivals to contend with that afternoon, just the one.

 

“Right. It does seem as though those two are quite unable to keep their hands off of one another.” Malfoy sneered mildly, and though Harry was irked by it, he couldn't quite disagree with the statement as a whole. Ron and Hermione  _ did _ spend an awful lot of time grabbing at each other, and not always behind closed doors. The Eighth Years had all gotten surprisingly accurate aim when throwing cushions at the pair as they were getting slightly too carried away on the common room couch. He settled in favour of rolling his eyes at Malfoy.

 

“Right well, er- should we go in?”

 

Malfoy’s lips thinned, but he waved his left hand vaguely, indicating that Harry should go ahead and knock at the door a few paces away. The two stepped forward to close the last of the space between them and the door and Harry raised his fist to knock at the massive slab of wood.

 

From deep within the incongruously small looking hut, Hagrid yelled out “I’ll be there in a mo’!”

 

Harry and Malfoy waited shoulder to shoulder on the doorstep in utter silence, looking not at each other but blankly at the door in front of them.

 

The seconds were stretching out increasingly uncomfortably and just when Harry was about to blurt out anything to break the awkward silence, the door in front of them blessedly opened to a beaming Hagrid. 

 

He was wearing a massive purple paper crown, and Nancy was wearing a matching pink one. Behind Hagrid’s massive frame he could make out pink and purple decorations hung around the walls.

 

“Hello, Professor,” said Malfoy, blinking slowly at the sight in front of him. “Hello, Nancy.”

 

“Cheers Hagrid. Hello, Nance” Harry was tempted to reach out and tickle Nancy under her chin as though she was nothing more dangerous than the docile house pet Hagrid believed her to be, but in the end he decided not to get pulled in by the adorable sight of the baby dragon in a paper crown held to her head by bright green yarn tied in a bow. She was still a dragon, Harry reminded himself. He should know better than to tickle a dragon, sleeping or otherwise.

 

“Hullo boys! Come in, come in! The cake was just coming out o’ the oven!” 

 

Hagrid turned around and went inside the hut, and Harry and Malfoy shared an unprecedented fortifying glance. Of course there was cake. 

 

Unsettled by the moment of near-camaraderie, Harry hurried inside after Hagrid, leaving Malfoy to follow behind him and shut the door.

 

Hagrid led them to the living room, every inch of which was covered with pink tinsel, or pink balloons, or pink flowers.

 

“Lil’ Nancy’s favourite colour it is!” said Hagrid fondly, after catching Harry’s stunned look at the surroundings. “Startin’ teh grow on meh as well!” Hagrid chortled and went off to the kitchen to tend to the cake. 

 

Malfoy was standing beside Harry, looking like whatever the more polite version of “shocked at the decor” was.

 

“Jus’ make yerselves comfortable boys, we’ll be righ’ out!” 

 

Malfoy looked at Harry and then at the massive Hagrid-sized couches before he conjured himself an elegant looking armchair that was more reasonably sized. Harry just climbed on the couch opposite, and settled for being swallowed by the cushions. He sat cross legged on the couch and made himself as comfortable as he could.

 

On the table in front of him were an assortment of cookies and finger sandwiches, which thankfully enough did not look as though Hagrid had made them, but rather were made by the Hogwarts House Elves, as well as a few paper crowns of varying colours. He blurted out before he could consider who he was making small talk with.

 

“Blimey, you don’t think Hagrid is going to want us to wear those do you?” 

 

Malfoy looked at the crowns on the table with a glum resignation.

 

“Salazar help us, I don’t see us getting out of it.”

 

Harry bit back a grin at the dry humour behind Malfoy’s words. Before Harry could decide whether or not to respond in kind, Hagrid came out of the kitchen with a messily frosted cake in his hands. It was pink frosted and had “3 Months” written on it in emerald icing that matched the yarn around Nancy’s neck perfectly. Harry suddenly found himself at eleven, on the cold stone floor of the house on the rock, staring at the first birthday cake he had ever had, given to him by the kind giant in front of him now.

 

Harry rapidly blinked away the sudden moisture in his eyes. 

 

“Brilliant cake, Hagrid.” He spoke earnestly, and hoped Hagrid would understand the depth of sentiment behind it. He beamed at Harry and thanked him, equally glassy eyed. 

 

Malfoy looked on in polite bemusement, clearly not expecting a shoddily frosted cake to incite such emotion in the present company.

 

“Aren’t yeh going teh put yer crowns on?”

 

 

By the time it was time to cut the cake, Harry was having a surprisingly pleasant evening, even with Malfoy present.

 

Harry could tell at the beginning of the evening that Hagrid wasn’t totally unaware of the underlying tension between Harry and Malfoy; he had chosen to ignore it however, by shifting focus to the baby dragon in his massive lap, and they had spent most of the afternoon discussing practically every day of Nancy’s three months of development, and even before, when Hagrid and Malfoy had been nurturing her and experimenting on her as an egg.

 

“If you’d found her even a week later professor, the sizing freeze spell might not have taken effect. The egg was at just the right time for magical stasis and the developmental spells to be cast.”

 

“I can ‘ardly believe lil’ Nancy is three months old now,” Hagrid kept repeating, a love struck teary eyed look on his face. “I never thought I’d be able teh have a dragon this long. They do usually grow quite quick, Harry, did yeh know? By three months this little lassie ought’ve been as big as that chair yeh’ve got, Draco!”

 

Harry smiled at Hagrid and Nancy, who he was much more comfortable around after a few hours of her climbing up and down his jumper, and nestling in his hair. Loathe as he was to admit it, Nancy did seem every bit as docile as Hagrid believed her to be, for once.

 

“Yeah, I seem to remember Norbert getting quite big quite quickly. Or er- Norberta that is.” 

 

“Dinnae think I’d be able teh keep one in the house or on Hogwarts grounds fer so long. Three months is actually longer than I’ve been able to keep any pet on the grounds, other than Fang. The Headmaster or the Ministry would always take them away, even though I told ‘em they weren’ a danger teh the students.”

 

Hagrid seemed to be getting quite emotional at the thought, which didn’t surprise Harry. He had seen first hand how hard it had been for Hagrid to part ways with Norbert and Buckbeak, and even Aragog through Voldemort’s diary. He could only imagine that there had been several other short-lived but deeply felt bonds that had been broken in the years in between.

 

“I really cannae thank yeh enough fer this, Draco.”

 

Malfoy looked ill-at-ease with so much open and heartfelt gratitude, but he managed a polite “Not at all, professor, it was my pleasure”. 

 

He then reached into his cloak pocket and pulled out the gift he had brought along.

 

“I wasn't sure what the etiquette was for a, um, three month celebration, but I’d been raised to always bring something to a party. It's just a little something for Nancy.”

 

Hagrid jumped to his feet and dragged a shocked Malfoy to his as well, enveloping him in what looked to be a bone-crushing hug.

 

“Oh Draco, yeh’ve done so much for us already, no need to have troubled yerself with a gift!” 

 

Harry stared at the scene in silent shock, anticipating that at any moment he might awake from the frankly  _ bizarre _ dream he was currently in.

 

“You are very welcome professor,” Malfoy managed to choke out. “You can open it if you would like, it’s really nothing much.”

 

Hagrid let Malfoy back down onto his seat and he very carefully peeled back the wrapping paper. 

 

Inside it lay a small collar, with a silver tag on it. On one side it read “Nancy Hagrid,” and the other“I’m friendly! If found, return to Rubeus Hagrid, Hogwarts.” 

 

Hagrid was sniffling softly, while Nancy was busy sniffing the collar.

 

Malfoy, looking comically uncomfortable with his paper crown slightly askew from Hagrid’s previous hug spoke up to break the tension.

 

“I, um, I wasn't aware that Nancy’s favourite colour was pink, so I went with a simple black collar, but it should be a quick matter of a colour changing spell should you wan-- or rather, should she prefer it to be a different colour. I also thought it might be prudent to specify that she’s docile, to avoid any panicked wizard firing off a spell if she suddenly jumps on their shoulder. She should be flying pretty soon, and while your home should be spacious enough for her to fly and exercise in, I do anticipate that she’ll find her way out into the grounds at some point.” 

 

Malfoy kept rambling, unsure of how to react to the fact that Hagrid was now crying on the over-sized couch.

 

Harry could hardly believe how far Malfoy was willing to go to accommodate Hagrid’s unorthodox parental relationship with this baby dragon.

 

“I reckon she’d like that,” choked out Hagrid, in between full-blown sobs now. Nancy was on his shoulder now, scenting or licking his tears, Harry couldn’t tell. “Oh mah sweet girl, it’s all right, Mummy will stop crying now, it’s all right.” 

 

Malfoy then turned to Harry with an extremely loud look of help on his face.

 

Malfoy really did look very desperate, and rather pathetic in his sky blue paper crown, so Harry took pity on the Slytherin and scooted over to Hagrid and wrapped an arm around his massive frame. 

 

“You’re alright there Hagrid, er- here let me just charm that collar--- there we go! Why don't you put it on her?”

 

Harry handed Hagrid the now pink collar and turned to Malfoy who was still looking supremely uncomfortable with the whole situation.

 

“Um, M-Draco, why don’t you go grab us some drinks in the meantime?”

 

“Right, Potter. Harry. I’ll be right back with some refreshments, professor.”

 

Malfoy had hardly finished speaking before he was out of his chair and dashing off to the kitchen. Harry was rubbing light circles around Hagrid’s shoulder, as he dabbed his tears with a large hanky.

 

“He’s a good one, that Draco, ‘sa shame he dinnae let himself be before.”

 

Harry just smiled tightly back at Hagrid.

 

“Yeah, sure, Hagrid.” He patted him lightly on the shoulder and reached to pet Nancy lightly over the collar. She let out a contented snort, with just the slightest hint of smoke coming out of her nostrils. 

 

“He seems alright.”

 

 

A few minutes before curfew, Harry and Draco were making their way back to the castle, lightly buzzed on Butterbeer and with stomachs full of surprisingly good cake.

 

They crossed the courtyard in silence that was only broken when Draco looked up at the very many moving stairs they would have to navigate to go to bed, and he cursed under his breath.

 

Harry snickered at him, and elbowed his gently in the side. 

 

“Do you wanna race to the top then?”

 

Draco glared at him, the barest hint of a smile in the corner of his squinted eyes.

 

“Bugger off, Potter.”

 

Harry laughed and they slowly began climbing the stairs. Although his stomach was full, his heart felt lighter than it had in a long time, and as lovely as the evening with Nancy and Hagrid had been, he couldn’t deny that the warmth in his stomach was more than partly due to the fact that he and Malfoy seemed to finally be making progress. 

 

After so many years of  _ fighting _ to rid himself of enemies, there was something truly gratifying at ridding oneself of an enemy through simply working towards making them a friend. The thought put an extra spring in his step as he climbed the stairs to the fifth floor, Malfoy already trailing a few steps behind.

 

“Come on Draco, you’re not going to let me beat you that easy are you?”

 

Harry looked back over his shoulder as Malfoy tilted his head back, eyes closed, looking very much like he was asking for someone to grant him patience, after which he picked up the pace and started taking the stairs two at a time, passing Harry in the process.

 

Harry laughed and raced up after him, paper crown flying off behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again to every one who leaves kudos and comments, as well as everyone who simply reads and enjoys the story! New chapter next Friday as per usual.
> 
> If you want to talk about the story or anything else, feel free to leave a comment or to hit me up on Tumblr at Danielasaurus


	9. Silence in the Library

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is going out into the world with less fine-tuning than I would like but I'm off on a road trip in a few minutes (why do I leave these things to the last second), so I hope you enjoy it!

September had come and gone, and in the early October evening, Harry found that he could no longer grit his teeth and comfortably read by the Great Lake, forcing him to retreat to the warmth of the castle library to get his potions reading done. By now, the eighth year common room was as joyous and convivial as the Gryffindor common room had ever been, and while Harry didn’t miss the underlying tension of those early weeks of mistrustful houses, there  _ had been _ something to be said about a quiet common room in which one could study. 

 

He sighed deeply, thinking now of the loud chatter of the returning Eighth Years, all of these young people coming together to collaborate on homework, or to gossip, or playing games. It wasn't that Harry felt as though he couldn’t join; nobody was ostracizing him or purposefully leaving him out of the festivities and friendly study sessions. But it was as though he could only see and experience the carefree joy of his year mates from afar, or through a looking glass. The reality of it never seemed close enough to touch.

 

Between the loss of the Gryffindor common room, then of the eighth year common room as a study space, the loss of his room to Ron and Hermione and now the loss of the Great Lake, Harry was starting to feel more and more adrift, even within his Hogwarts home. It was an unsettling feeling, and he hoped that the familiar walls of the library would soothe his restless soul.

 

He gripped his potions book tighter, and briskly walked the final length of courtyard between the October chill and the awaiting warmth of the castle. He looked at the structure as a whole and took comfort in the fact that the outward appearance of the castle at least remained mostly unchanged. 

 

In the Entrance Hall, Harry spotted Ginny flirting shamelessly with a Hufflepuff seventh year. Although he didn’t feel a surge of jealousy, there was an underlying sense of awkwardness that he couldn’t shake; perhaps it was the fraternal instinct to protect Ginny, or the discomfort of having fraternal instincts in relation to someone you had had sex with, but regardless of the reason, Harry did his best to remain unspotted. It did look, after all, as though Ginny had the situation well in hand; the Hufflepuff boy looked positively hypnotized.

 

Harry snorted lightly in sympathy, which drew Ginny’s attention to him. Just like that, she left the Hufflepuff boy standing in the corner and jogged over to Harry. Harry grinned at the disheartened look clearly written on the boy’s face as he followed Ginny’s trail away from him. When she reached Harry and threw and arm around his shoulders, Harry shot him an apologetic shrug and a grin, but Ginny was already pulling him away.

 

“Harry! Long time no see, how are you?”

 

“Better than that lovelorn Hufflepuff you just left in the corner that’s for sure.”

 

Ginny threw her head back and let out a throaty laugh.

 

“Oh him? He’s just a bit of fun, Harry, don’t worry about him.” 

 

She looked at him, all mischievous eyes and flying red hair. She really was stunning, Harry sympathized with the Hufflepuff all the more after hearing her dismiss him so easily. 

 

“What about you? Not taking advantage of all of the joy in the air to have a bit of fun yourself, now that the war is over? I’d imagine that over half the school would strip down to their unmentionables and bend over for you in front of McGonagall herself if the saviour of the wizarding world so much as glanced at them!”

 

Harry choked on air and nearly tripped from the shock of the sudden imagery. 

 

“ _ Ginny! _ ” 

 

Ginny just laughed and ducked away from Harry’s playfully shoving arm. 

 

“Oh come off it, Harry! We’re all young and fun here! And despite our tragic finale, and all too brief sexual liaison,  I have to say that in bed you’re  _ rea--- _ ” 

 

“ _ GINNY!”  _

 

Ginny laughed even harder and threw her hands up in surrender. 

 

“Alright, alright there, don’t  _ incendio _ Harry, just having a laugh!” She grinned widely at him. “I was only going to say complimentary things anyway, just so you know. Although I do have to say, they would have been all the  _ more  _ complementary if you  _ had _ had that Horntail tattoo on your chest.”

 

At that Harry finally burst out in laughter too, his free hand coming up to cover his too-warm face. 

 

“You know, I feel like I might have dodged a bullet, what with you and me just being mates. I don’t know that I could keep up with such merciless teasing. I’d probably be as whipped as that Hufflepuff within the week.”

 

Ginny let out an inelegant scoff.

 

“The week? Please. I could have you wrapped around my pinky in  _ days _ .” 

 

Instead, she wrapped her arm back around his shoulders. Harry rolled his eyes at her, but didn’t refute her claim. Ginny certainly seemed to have her ways, and she knew it. There had always been something about confidence that Harry found hopelessly attractive.

 

“Where are you off to then? Back to the seventh floor? You know, I haven’t even gotten a look at your set up yet! Is it nice?”

 

Harry smiled as they reached the library. 

 

“This is my stop I’m afraid. Off to study since the eighth year common room, lovely as it is actually, is not the most quiet space.”

 

Ginny scrunched up her face in sympathy.

 

“People shagging on your couches all the time too then?”

 

Harry choked on nothing again and the colour that had finally receded from his cheeks came rushing back.

 

“What! No- Ginny! You can’t be serious about people shagging on the couches in the seventh year dorms. Are you?”

 

Ginny laughed at Harry, but reached out and patted him on the shoulder to soften its blow.

 

“Nah, just some pretty heavy snogging, I’m afraid. To hear Neville tell it, Ron and Hermione are the ones practically shagging all over your commons though.”

 

Ginny made a grimace of disgust, and Harry mirrored it with a smile on his face.

 

“They’re probably at it now, matter of fact. You could always pop round for a visit? Maybe it’ll finally cool the pair off if Ron starts thinking that his little sister might walk in on him at any moment.”

 

Ginny grinned at Harry and pointed her chin up in contemplation.

 

“Hmmm, you know, I  _ have _ been meaning to stop by and visit Neville… Maybe I could go round, pretend Mum is visiting with; she mentioned wanting to do so over the hols... That should give Ronald a good fright, don't you think?”

 

Harry laughed at the thought and turned to go in the library.

 

“Whatever you do, I haven’t seen you all day and I know nothing about it!”

 

The sound of Ginny’s fading laughter followed Harry into the library.

 

His short walk with Ginny had left Harry feeling much more animated and less gloomy than he had been walking up from the Great Lake, but the familiar quiet and warmth of the library finished setting him to rights. 

 

He tried to look for an empty table, but it seemed that the third and fifth years must have some serious assignments, because all of the tables seemed to be full up. All the tables, except for a small perimeter around the far corner, which seemed completely vacated, except for a bright blond shock of hair, hidden behind a tower of books.

 

Harry didn’t have to try very hard to guess why the tables might have remained vacant.

 

As he stood by the entrance, trying to decide the best course of action, Harry remembered his thoughts of second chances that day at the lake a couple of weeks ago, and then again to Nancy’s non-birthday tea a few days back.

 

The afternoon with Malfoy and Hagrid had been pleasant. Surprisingly so, considering that as far as Harry could tell at the beginning of the evening, half of the attendants would gladly have set Harry on fire. But it had been very cordial, and even  _ nice _ just to sit around and chat about dragons and eat rock cakes and tea. Even the walk back to the seventh floor had been fine, despite the lack of buffer of Hagrid and Nancy between Harry and Draco. Harry thought back to their almost friendly half-race up the stairs. By the time they had reached the seventh floor, Malfoy was slightly winded, and definitely more than a little flushed in the cheeks. Harry had stopped at the top of the stairs to let Malfoy catch his breath, not even thinking of antagonizing him with a friendly gloat at having won their little race.

 

_ “Merlin, I do miss the dungeons at times.” _

 

_ Harry smirked, “I’m sure that going to bed was less of an ordeal then.” He grinned down at Malfoy who was bent low, hands on his knees. “I do miss the Gryffindor commons as well though.”  _

 

_ Draco half smiled at Harry as he straightened up and tucked his blond hair behind his ears, his paper crown having been left behind at Hagrid’s. _

 

_ “Well let’s settle for the rooms we have now and head to bed shall we?” _

 

Back at the library, Harry considered picking one of the empty tables in Malfoy’s immediate proximity, but before he even realized, he had walked right up to Malfoy’s table, and put his book bag down on the bench in front of it. 

 

Malfoy looked up, startled out of his reading at the unexpected disturbance and immediately frowned at Harry.

 

“Potter  _ what _ do you think you're doing?” 

 

His voice was irritated, and slightly too loud for the library’s deep silence, which earned him a stern such from Madam Pince. 

 

He had a slightly manic look about him, similar to the one Hermione would get when she began fanatically researching something. Harry thought on an absent-mindedly amused note that Malfoy’s hair seemed immune to the amount of frizzy volume Hermione’s hair developed whenever she worked herself up into such a stud frenzy however. Disregarding the other boy’s frustrated exclamations, Harry just sat down and opened his potions book on the small amount of available tabletop real estate. 

 

“ _ Potter! What in the devil do you think you are doing?” _ , Malfoy whispered loudly.

 

Harry simply pointed a finger at the sign on the wall beside them, specifically the glittering “ _ Silence in the Library! _ ” sign hung just above their eye-level, then put the finger up to his lips, and turned his head to his reading.

 

For a second, Malfoy was quietly spluttering, and Harry could only too clearly imagine his confused and irritated look, but he kept his gaze unreading on the pages in front of him, trying very hard to keep the guileless innocent look on his face, ignoring Draco’s continued whispered tirade once he finally got back his bearings.

 

“ _Potter!_ _Potter, you can’t just barge in here and sit wherever it pleases you! Find another table! Potter!”_

 

Harry looked up at Malfoy as though he were being a great disturbance. He raised his eyebrows at Malfoy in question, and challenging, as though to see how far Malfoy would push the issue. Malfoy just glared back in confused frustration, clearly discontent with the situation, but not wanting to back down and be the one to move away. Madam Pince watching from the opposite side of the room was likely his only deterrent from spelling Harry and his stuff away onto another table altogether.

 

Harry, mind made up that Malfoy probably wouldn’t do anything after all, simply turned back on his book to actually study, finally. In his periphery, he caught sight of Malfoy closing his book, sitting unmoving for a long moment, before eventually sighing deeply in frustration and opening up the large tome in front of him once more.

 

Harry could hear him muttering under his breath, but Malfoy made no further move to unseat Harry from his spot across the table. In time, the muttering quieted down, and Harry could truly focus on the text in front of him, at last studying in earnest. He realized quite quickly that he hadn’t even had the textbook open to the right potion. He glanced up at Malfoy as he rifled through the book for the correct section, and the blond just rolled his eyes at Harry, and went back to his own reading. 

 

He seemed to be casually leafing through a book of very intimidating magical equations. Harry decided that he was better off focusing on his potions text than trying to decipher the mass of numbers and diagrams facing Malfoy.

 

They read in silence for two hours or so, after which Harry had finally grasped the theory behind a successful aging potion. He debated reading ahead and taking advantage of his studious impulse to get ahead in the potions class for once, but in the end, he simply grabbed his book and bag, nodded curtly at Malfoy, and got up to leave the library, figuring that he might as well not push his luck for the evening and head out to dinner early instead.

 

Malfoy just frowned at him, and then at the students in the tables around them, which had been filled up sometime during the last couple of hours, and whose occupants were surreptitiously watching his and Harry’s table. Harry hadn’t noticed the crowd, used to it as he was to ignoring people gathering around him at what they considered to be a reasonable distance, but he was unsurprised. Malfoy, on the other hand, seemed mildly shocked at the development, leading Harry to believe that he had been more engrossed in the magical theory text than Harry  had first believed, after seeing him dispassionately turning the pages a few hours ago.

 

Harry fought not to shoot him a cheeky grin, but by the way Malfoy scowled back at him, Harry wasn’t sure he succeeded. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there it was, tentative friendships, finally getting somewhere. Please leave a comment if you're liking the story so far, I love to hear from you!


	10. Good Intent

A few days after his impromptu study session with Malfoy, Harry, Ron and Hermione found themselves studying in the Quidditch stands while Ginny led the Gryffindor team in drills, in the pleasant Saturday midday heat. It promised to be the last of the warm days of Autumn, and the unexpected heatwave had all of the students lazily enjoying the sun. Although Hermione had been half-heartedly trying to get Ron and Harry to focus on their studying, she had already put away the bulk of her materials, clearly enjoying the lazy sunshine as much as the other two, reluctant as she might have been to admit it.

 

Harry and Ron eventually gave up on studying altogether and turned to watch Ginny running the Gryffindor drills. Although she was usually a fierce competitor and driven captain, it seemed even she was not immune to the late summer spirit in the air, and half the team had lapsed into doing the most acrobatic stunts they could on their brooms and the other half were having a game of catch with a shrunken Quaffle. 

 

If asked, Harry was sure Ginny would come up with a list of the important values of these exercises as long as his arm, but he could tell that she was enjoying goofing off with her teammates and had little thought of the athletic value of their play at the moment.

 

Harry smiled and turned to Ron to comment on the sharp dive the seeker just performed, holding his broom by the hands but no longer seated on it, legs flying out behind him.

 

“Merlin, I’m about soiling myself just watching that.” 

 

Ron laughed at him and elbowed his side, “Yeah right, as though you’re not itching to get on your Firebolt and try out that move right now!” 

 

Harry rolled his eyes, and simply grinned harder. He hadn’t realized how much he missed just sitting around with Ron and Hermione, talking about inane stuff like Quidditch stunts as Hermione predictably read on and tuned out most of their inane chatter.

 

At their comments though she looked up from the book in her hands and shot them both chastising looks.

 

“If either of you decide to essentially free base off of your brooms, I will not be responsible for spelling your splattered remains off of the pitch.”

 

“Oh come off it Hermione! You’re talking with two of the late great Gryffindor Quidditch players here! As if that little second year runt could pull off any move we couldn’t.” He pulled Hermione close to his side by an arm around her waist and planted a loud smacking kiss on her cheek. Hermione rolled her eyes, but simply made herself comfortable against Ron’s side and went back to her reading. 

 

“Well I don’t know about that, but I do know that if either of you so much as  _ thinks _ about joining in on the acrobatics hour on the pitch, I will glue you both to your seats and charm your Transfiguration books open on your laps.” 

 

“Yeah, alright, alright.”

 

Harry and Ron just turned back to commenting on the training session and enjoyed the spectatorship.

 

If they made quiet plans to try out some of the moves later, Hermione didn’t need to know.

  
  
  


Monday morning found the Harry and Ron a little less than totally prepared for the Transfiguration quiz Professor Figglebottom threw at them, which had Hermione in a particularly self-satisfied mood, but Harry thought he managed to answer most of the questions on the Animagus transfiguration process pretty well regardless. Figglebottom had looked  _ reasonably _ pleased as he reviewed their papers in front of the class while the students practiced transfiguring their caterpillars into butterflies in any case, although it has just as hard to read Figglebottom as it had ever been to read McGonagall. Harry vaguely wondered if a stone faced, stern demeanour was a requirement for transfiguration professors at Hogwarts.

 

By the time the class ended, Harry had managed to successfully transfigure all of his caterpillars into butterflies and back, although a couple of the caterpillars had retained the orange and black colouring of its butterfly wings as he had transfigured them back, no matter how hard he cast the counterspell.

 

Hermione predictably took this as an opportunity to lecture him and Ron all the way down to the potions classroom about the importance of studying and reading the material thoroughly, instead of shrugging off their academics in lieu of watching some silly Quidditch drills.

 

“Alright, Hermione, we’ll be better about studying in the future! Now why don’t you actually tell us how to fix Harry’s problem?”

 

Harry smiled at Hermione imploringly, trying his best to look both contrite and curious, hoping it would be enough to garner a sympathetic explanation from her. Hermione didn’t seem to buy it for a second, but launched into an explanation regardless, incapable as always of passing up an opportunity to share her seemingly unending pool of knowledge.

 

By the time they reached their desks in the Potions classroom Harry felt he knew more about the de-aging properties of correct wrist tension in transfiguration casting than he would ever need to know, but he did appreciate the lesson if it would allow him to correctly revert the caterpillar in the practical quiz Figglebottom promised them for the following lesson.

 

Fittingly enough, written on the blackboard at the head of the classroom was the potion of the day:  _ Brew an aging potion, individually. _

 

Harry grinned to think back to his study session at the table with Malfoy, and the irritated scowl Malfoy had shot him whenever he looked up from his reading. Although Harry genuinely wanted to give Malfoy a chance, and to start fresh, there was something still deeply amusing about irritating the blond.

 

He turned to his right where across the steps and the aisle was Malfoy himself, already setting up his station. His movements in hanging his cauldron and spelling it full of water seemed well-rehearsed and graceful, as Malfoy’s movements always did. Harry took a second to envy him the ease with which Malfoy seemed to practice potions making, and a second to resent Snape for so clearly playing favourites and so solidly building up one of his students as he merrily tore down so many others, but eventually Harry shook the thoughts out of his head and went about setting up his own station.

 

_ Snape was a hero, by any definition of the word,  _ Harry reminded himself, a mantra often repeated whenever ill thoughts about Snape crept into his consciousness.  _ He was brave and selfless and suffered years of unspeakable labour to serve the cause. _

 

He tried to drown out the voice in the back of his head that refused to hear it, the voice that only felt anger and hatred for the vile treatment he received under the older man’s tutelage. He had moderate success.

 

Once Harry had successfully mounted his cauldron and the water he has spelled into it had come to a boil, he turned to see how Malfoy was doing once again.

 

It seemed as though he was still on mise-en-place, choosing to prepare all of his ingredients on the work table prior to even boiling his water. Harry frowned, recalling that all of his potions books seemed to suggest that, but that no one but Hermione and Malfoy ever seemed to bother with it. The only time Harry had ever really followed potions instructions to the letter was when he worked with the Half Blood Prince’s book. 

 

Harry thought back to how easy and interesting potions had seemed with the Prince’s book, and struggled as ever to reconcile the loathsome man with the clever words littering its margins.

 

In the end, Harry spelled out the fire and decided to set up all of his ingredients before he started again. Although he was worried about starting his potion much later than the rest of the class, he did have to admit that having all of the ingredients pre-prepared made catching up and the brewing process much easier and decidedly less stressful than it usually was. It allowed him to really focus on the casting and stirring process needed throughout, and Harry found that having studied the potion in the library those days ago really did serve a purpose, as he could confidently cast and be assured of the function behind his actions and the ingredients added, for once. The added knowledge behind his actions led Harry to brew more confidently than he had since he had blindly trusted the Half-Blood Prince’s instructions.

 

By the time their class came to an end, his potion was textbook pearlescent, and the fumes causing him sudden exhaustion, just as they should. Harry felt the low simmering warmth of pride bubbling up inside him. As he went to stopper some for Slughorn to test in the front of his class, Malfoy passed by his station, walking up and out of class, a flower in his hand. It seemed his potion had been successful as well, unsurprisingly, as it had aged the seeds in Slughorn’s hand effortlessly.

 

He made brief eye contact with Malfoy, and on a whim, Harry pointed his chin at the potion in front of him. 

 

Malfoy paused briefly beside Harry’s cauldron and looked down at the pearly potion swirling within. He glanced back up at Harry and pursed his lips approvingly, before giving Harry a small nod and resuming his exit from the classroom.

 

Harry grinned to himself and finished stoppering his vial, and making his way down to Slughorn’s desk.

 

“Harry, dear boy! Let’s have a look at that Aging Potion shall we?  _ Very  _ nice colouring lad! Let’s take a drop for the seed test now….. Aha! Perfect aging my boy, full points! 5 points to Gryffindor as well for some fine brewing! Here is the physical proof of your success, you can clear your station and head to lunch right away, good job, my boy!” Slughorn handed him the large sunflower that had grown from the small seed he had placed on the testing plate.

 

Harry grabbed his sunflower and went back to his desk, shooting both Ron and Hermione a massive grin as he vanished the rest of his potion and put away his ingredients. 

 

“Blimey, Harry, you using the book again?” Ron’s potion was a dull white, lacking any sort of iridescence. He looked impressed at Harry’s work but totally unconcerned at the lackluster potion in front of him. Hermione’s potion looked perfect of course.

 

“No, I’ve just had more time to study than usual this year,” Harry replied cheekily. “What with the two of you off shagging all the time and there being no Voldemort trying to kill me and all.”

 

Both Ron and Hermione pinked lightly and rolled their eyes at him.

 

“Well I’m glad you've finally listened to me about studying in any case. Only took you seven years to get it through your thick skull. Maybe there’s hope for Ron yet!”

 

“Nah, Mione, Ron’s skull’s  _ much _ thicker than mine, you’re out of luck with that one.”

 

Harry shot the two a final grin as he grabbed his bag and left the classroom before Ron could land the smacks he was aiming at Harry’s arm. He twirled the sunflower in his hands as he made his way up to the Great Hall for lunch, filled with a sense of accomplishment he never thought he could get from a potions class, much less a class without the Half-Blood Prince’s book. It seemed studying  _ did  _ pay off, after all.

 

He idly wondered when he might be able to catch Malfoy studying in the library again.

  
  


Harry decided that using the Marauder’s Map to find Malfoy was not the same as using the map to keep an eye on him when he had thought he was up to no good. 

 

He had fully accepted that perhaps Malfoy, who wore paper crowns to dragon parties, and catalogued books, and made Flitwick fall over laughing was no longer the threat Harry had always thought him to be, and while he had come to the conclusion that tracking his every movement on the Marauder's Map was no longer appropriate, the map  _ did _ prove itself to be useful when you were trying to crash his study sessions.

 

So it came to be that Harry once again dropped his book bag down on the bench across from Malfoy, and opened his book on the only empty spot on the table he occupied in the corner of the library.

 

At the sudden movement Malfoy looked up, only to scowl at Potter.

 

“ _ Again _ with this nonsense, Potter? Get your own bloody table!”

 

Harry just raised his eyebrows at him and pointed his gaze to the  _ Silence in the Library _ sign.

 

Malfoy looked apoplectic. Harry was worried for a second that Malfoy really might just hex him where he sat, or just storm away, but in the end, he just sighed long and deep, clearly trying to contain his rage. Harry wondered if he had somehow picked up Legilimency without realizing, or if Malfoy was really just counting down from ten in his head so loudly that Harry could practically hear it in his.

 

Harry raised the book in his hands to hide the edges of the grin he couldn’t quite smother.

 

“Oh,  _ shut up Potter _ , and study if you're actually going to study before I give in and hex you out the window and finally rid myself of you once and for all, you bloody pest.” 

 

Harry smiled wider but actually set out to study the mating rituals of the Hidebehind, the next chapter to read in their Care of Magical Creatures textbook. 

 

In the end the pair of them studied in silence until Madam Pince came to their table at eight, to tell them that the library was closed. Harry was surprised, having been absorbed in the Herbology reading he had switched to after catching up on his Care of Magical Creatures homework.

 

He looked up to find that Malfoy also seemed surprised at the late hour.

 

Harry packed his books up much quicker than Malfoy could since he only had the two and Malfoy a small mountain of them. Harry debated waiting for him, or perhaps giving him a hand, but in the end he just waved and shot him a quick half-smile before he turned at left for the kitchens to get something to eat since he had missed dinner. 

 

_ Better not push Malfoy too far too quick,  _ he thought to himself, walking down to the kitchens. He didn't want to spook Malfoy and ruin his progress so far, despite the fact that he still wasn’t quite sure  _ what  _ they were progressing towards.

  
  


The next time Harry went to the library to study at Malfoy’s table, the blond no longer looked surprised to see him, although he did look as frustrated with him as ever.

 

“Merlin, Potter, don’t you have anything better to do than to annoy me to death?”

 

Harry just smiled innocently and looked at the  _ Silence  _ sign.

 

“Salazar,  _ enough with the bloody sign _ . Quit looming like the infuriating pest you are and sit down and do your bloody homework so we can both get on with our lives.”

 

Harry grinned and gave him a cheeky nod of the head, at which Malfoy rolled his eyes and promptly ignored him in favour of the runes essay he seemed to be writing.

 

Harry settled in and noticed, to his great surprise, that his half of the desk was clear for once.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you once again to all the lovely people who take time out of their day to leave a comment, I truly appreciate them! I hope you've enjoyed this latest instalment, as the upcoming ones get a little angstier for Harry!


	11. Halloween

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is the first chapter in which that PTSD tag really comes into play! I've been stressing out about this and the next chapter because while I have recurring major depression, PTSD is not something I was super confident about writing and I really didn't want to get it wrong!! So I did what any type A writer would do and did a fuckton of research to compound my first-hand knowledge and experience of mental illness, then had my beta/editor review it because I was convinced that I suck and should quit writing, then just decided to accept her positive feedback and stop rewriting the damn thing. 
> 
> All this to say, PTSD ahead, consider yerselves warned. And also be kind if you can, I TRIED VERY HARD TO HAVE GOOD REPRESENTATION. I certainly know -I- appreciate good representation of MY mental illness.

It was the last week of October, and Harry could feel a bad mood rolling in as uncontrollable and as unstoppable as the oncoming Autumn chill. 

 

His foul mood had everyone around him stepping on eggshells, with even Hermione speaking to him in low appeasing tones that only served to put Harry all the more on edge. He wasn’t proud to say that he had snapped at her more than once in the past few days already, but he seemed to be as helpless in controlling his own anger as Hermione was helpless against her instinct to try and soothe him. 

 

His anger felt like a foreign invader in his body, contaminating his heart and soul, making him act out in a way that was out of his control, and his lack of control in that only served to worsen Harry’s mood.

 

He had taken to simply walking around the castle after classes as much as he could instead of trying to socialize with anyone, figuring that if he couldn’t control his temper he could at least control who he surrounded himself with and who he could potentially lash out at instead. He particularly avoided talking with anyone he wasn’t close friends with if he could, since the careful tones these passing acquaintances addressed him with left him so rankled he was genuinely worried he might hex whoever spoke to him next. He hated that everyone seemed to  _ know _ that he was feeling this way, and that they thought they knew why. He couldn’t stand everyone’s understanding behaviour since he didn’t  _ want  _ people to feel as though they understood. 

 

_ Nobody _ understood, and more than anything he wished for a privacy in his grief that the wizarding world had never afforded him, not since that Halloween seventeen years ago, when they claimed his day of mourning the death of his parents for themselves. 

 

It was Friday and classes were done for the week, and although Harry would usually rejoice at the imminent break for the weekend, the Sunday Halloween feast loomed large on the horizon, and he resented not having classes to distract himself with. As Harry packed up his books, he could see Hermione nudging Ron towards him from the station beside his in the greenhouse. Harry simply tossed everything on his table into his bag haphazardly and made a swift exit before Ron could catch him, just barely managing to mutter a quick bye to Neville, with whom he was partnered with this semester.

 

Harry strode as fast as he could towards the castle, hellbent on dodging Ron and Hermione by hiding out in the library, where Ron wouldn’t think to look for him and Hermione wouldn’t believe he would be found. 

 

Once he arrived, he settled into the corner table Malfoy had unofficially claimed as his own. Although it was currently empty, Harry settled in on his own usual side and dropped his book bag beside him.

 

He wasn’t actually in a mood to study. He couldn’t imagine focusing beyond the anger simmering in his veins (or the deep well of loss and sadness below that, which he was still stubbornly trying to avoid acknowledging).

 

Instead, Harry just sat at the table, scowling blankly out the window, worrying a small collection of grooves into the tabletop as he dug his reinforced quill into the wood, line after line, a small physical outlet for the roiling emotions within.

 

He lost track of the time as he carved line after line onto the tabletop, and he couldn’t say how much time had passed before Malfoy appeared at the table, looking at Harry as he often did these days with a mix of frustrated bafflement and resignation. Harry noticed however, that Malfoy didn’t even pause to consider sitting himself at the vacant table beside them before settling in at his usual spot, for all that he claimed that Harry studying with him was an inconvenience.

 

As he sat down, Malfoy shot Harry a deep scowl.

 

“Merlin, Potter, what did the bloody table do to deserve that?” 

 

He leaned over the table and yanked the offending quill out of Harry’s hand, confiscating it and placing in on top of his notes as he pulled his wand out of his bag.

 

Harry glared out the window as Malfoy slowly and carefully spelled the wood back into shape, even as he maintained a constant whispered litany of recrimination against Harry. Funnily enough, having Malfoy cursing him out for damaging the table seemed to be improving his mood.

 

“--seriously Potter do you have any idea how many desks I had to mend because bored idiots like you thought it would be a laugh to carve out crude drawings in the middle of a History of Magic lecture?  _ A staggering amount _ , Potter. Staggering. And to think you would think you could get away with it jus--”

 

“Yeah, alright Malfoy, sorry.”

 

Malfoy snapped his mouth shut. Harry realized vaguely that this was the first time Harry had actually spoken to him during their study sessions, as he had been keeping up his silent routine since the very first time he settled in and used the  _ Silence in the Library _ sign as an excuse to stop Malfoy from arguing him out of his seat.

 

“...Yes well, if I catch you doing it again I’ll burn all of your quills. Don’t think I won’t, Potter.”

 

Harry raised both of his hands in defeat and acquiescence. He and Malfoy looked at each other for a long beat. Harry wasn’t sure what he was looking for in Malfoy’s pointy features, nor did he know what it was that Malfoy was searching for either, but after a minute for silent eye contact, Malfoy returned his quill to him, handing it over with a stern look.

 

Harry took it wordlessly, turning his gaze back towards the window, twirling the quill between his fingers absently as the let himself drift in his thoughts.

 

Malfoy simply opened a book and got to studying, not speaking another word.

 

Close to a half hour later, it seemed as though the mess of emotions within Harry had settled enough that he finally thought he could focus on studying, and Harry took out his potions book to study.

 

“Salazar Slytherin, he  _ does _ know what libraries are for after all.”

 

Malfoy hadn’t looked up from his book at all. Harry rolled his eyes and gently kicked him under the table.

 

“Don’t be a prat, or I’ll deface your precious table again.”

 

Malfoy let out a single silent huff of what could have been deemed laughter, and then the two boys went back to studying, spending the rest of their Friday evening in companionable silence.

  
  


Inevitably, Halloween came upon them. 

 

On the Sunday morning, Harry had risen early, grabbed his Firebolt and his Invisibility Cloak, and left Ron in bed, ducking out of the castle before anyone else seemed to be up.

 

He was filled with a restless energy, a need to just move and keep moving, to keep his mind busy through sheer will and motion alone. A fly around the grounds seemed like the best way to do just that, so as soon as he stepped out of the main doors and the cold dewy air hit his face, Harry mounted his broom and kicked off, heading up towards the clouds as fast and far as he could. Although he had dressed warmly for the occasion, the chill in the air seemed to be making quick work of cutting through his dragonhide riding gloves and his heavy cloak. Harry cast a quick warming charm and pushed on however, ever higher. 

 

Harry couldn’t feel his fingers anymore by the time he decided to stop climbing, and he righted his broom for a hover above the grounds. He could make out the castle in the distance below, but just barely. The air around him was thin, and cold enough to have his teeth chattering, but the combination of the two, along with the burning of his straining muscles from the extended journey at a steep incline proved to be exactly what Harry needed. 

 

He was finally alone.

 

Up here there were no people who hadn’t lost their entire families. People who hadn’t been made to fight an entire society’s war since he was a baby. People who thought they understood loss or who understood Harry but really just wanted any excuse to get close to the reputation that would follow Harry his entire life, not Harry himself. People who could never understand the crushing sense of failure he lived with, knowing he had let so many people die just because he wasn’t clever enough or quick enough or strong or brave enough to rid the world of Voldemort sooner.

 

Harry let out the scream that had been living at the back of his throat for close to a week now. It rang in his ears and echoed in his pounding heartbeat even after his lungs were emptied. He screamed again. Tears came out along with the scream this time around, and Harry just kept screaming, until his throat was raw and the tears and the anger were momentarily exhausted.

 

He crouched over and rested his head on the hands gripping the broomhandle as he slowly tried to recover his breath. The thinness of the air and the cold of it weren’t helping much, but he remained where he was, blessedly alone. For the first time in days, his mind wasn’t preoccupied with thoughts of the dead, and the ever present anger at the people around him, it was numb, with physical and emotional exhaustion.

 

He hoped that the numbness would last him until the end of the day, since he couldn’t imagine facing today any other way. 

 

He slowly began his descent when his stomach growled hard enough that he could no longer ignore it. His muscles were cold and stiff and burned with every motion he made to stay astride his broom, but he still didn’t rush his trip back. As he got closer to the grounds, Harry pulled out his Invisibility Cloak and wrapped it around his shoulders. He didn’t want to see or be seen by anyone today.

 

It was lunch already, which surprised Harry as he hadn’t realized he had been flying for so long. It certainly went a long way towards explaining why he was as sore as he was. Rather than going to the Great Hall, Harry headed towards the kitchens.

 

As the painting door opened, the pear still twitching slightly from being tickled, Harry was greeted with several dozen pairs of very confused eyes. Realizing his mistake, Harry pulled the Cloak from his shoulders and shut the door behind him.

 

“Mr. Potter, sir!” 

 

It seemed as though every House Elf was suddenly tripping over themselves to accommodate Harry. He smiled and waved off their fawning as best he could, reminding himself that the House Elves would treat anyone as such. 

 

“Thanks, everyone, I’m sorry to bother you, I know you must be swamped preparing for the feast tonight--”

 

A swarm of loud wailing cries followed that.

 

“A bother!!! Never--”

  
“Master Potter could  _ never-- _ ”

 

“We are never too busy for Mr. Potter--”

 

Harry hurriedly apologized.

 

“Sorry I didn’t mean anything by it! Please just return to whatever you need to be doing, er- Winky, could I trouble you for a couple of sandwiches please?”

 

Harry had hardly finished speaking when two house elves were handing Winky a basket that they had filled with sandwiches, a flask of pumpkin juice, some treacle tarts, fruits and cheese.

 

“It’s not a trouble at all, Mr. Harry Potter, sir. Winky is happy to be of service.”

 

Harry smiled at Winky and thanked the House Elves for their help, and left as quickly as he had come, suddenly overwhelmed by the memories of another squeaky voice, and big tearful eyes. He wrapped the Invisibility Cloak firmly around his shoulders once again, and fled to find a room in the castle to eat in that wouldn’t be haunted by memories.

 

It was as though the entire week of build up to today had not prepared Harry for the flood of emotions that came with it, but rather they had rubbed him so raw, with any little thing ready to set him off; he felt vulnerable and exposed, nerves laid bare.

 

He got as far away from the kitchens and the memory of Dobby’s dead weight in his arms as he could, ending up in an abandoned classroom on the seventh floor, four halls down from his new common room, which he hoped would be far away enough that no one would stumble by him.

 

Harry left his invisibility cloak on as he ate, yearning to remain invisible, and for the day to be over, and for his ghosts to leave him alone. 

 

After perfunctorily eating his lunch, Harry laid down on top of an empty desk and stared at the ceiling, trying, as he had since the end of the war, not to think. 

 

He counted the specks on the stone ceiling long enough that eventually he found himself running in a forest, running and running as he so often was, exhaustion weighing down his limbs but knowing with deathly certainty what the cost of stopping was.

 

An eternity and a few hours later, Harry awoke from the fitful nap he had fallen into, startled awake as he so often was by the flash of green light and the ringing voice of Tom Riddle casting the curse that had killed him.

 

Another night where he was too weak to keep running, and death caught up to him. Although he tried for deep calming breaths, the lingering scent of the forest had him close to vomiting.

 

_ It’s not real, _ he told himself like a mantra.  _ It’s all in your head. _

 

Like it often did however, his mantra was interrupted by Dumbledore’s words echoing in his head.

 

_ Of course it is happening inside your head, Harry, but why on earth should that mean that it is not real? _

 

_ “ARGHH”,  _ Harry screamed into his knees, hands clutching at his head. 

 

He felt as though he was going mad. More than that, he felt like a failure for being so weak that stupid memories were driving him to the point of madness.

 

He should be better. He shouldn’t be so afraid of memories. Nobody else seemed to be so hung up on the war. Why was he the only one so weak? Why couldn’t he be a true Gryffindor and just face the memories that haunted him? Would they grant him peace then?

 

Harry thought back to his morning flight, when high above the clouds and the castle he finally felt as though he had outrun his demons. The catharsis he had felt then was long gone and now he only felt ashamed, and cowardly, self-hatred choking him.

  
“Right,” he said to himself with a grim determination, getting to his feet and adjusting the Cloak around him.  _ No more running. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there you have it. Chapter 12 is my editor's favourite chapter so far, so look forward to next week! Thank you once again to every single one of you who left a comment, you have no idea how stupid happy I get when I see those email notifications.
> 
> See you next week!


	12. New Ends and Old Beginnings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for panic/anxiety attack in this chapter! If you've never experienced one, a panic attack can literally feel as though you're about to die and they are very very very unpleasant, and while I don't presume to think that my writing can actually convey how horrible one is or provoke a mirrored panicked response, I figure a trigger warning never goes amiss, just in case.

He decided to work his way down from the seventh floor, facing all of the spaces in his mind and in the castle that he had so far avoided as best he could. He began, hardest of all he thought, at the Astronomy Tower. 

 

He climbed the last of the steps leading out to the highest point in the castle with shaking hands and knees, but he refused to let his fears get the best of him any more. He couldn’t stop himself from feeling guilt, and anger, and fear, but he could control himself enough to carry on in spite of them. He told himself that visiting these places would take their power over him away from them, and he just prayed that telling himself so would make it true.

 

Once he made it to the spot where Dumbledore had died, he wasn't so sure. 

 

He was taking gasping breaths from the climb of the stairs, until he suddenly wasn’t, he was hyperventilating, but it wasn’t enough, he couldn't  _ breathe-- _

 

Harry fell to the ground, head between his knees, trying desperately to remember how to breathe. He couldn’t manage it. His entire body was tingling. It felt like dying all over again. Behind his tightly shut eyes, all he could see was the deadly green of Avada Kedavra, blinding him to his reality. 

 

_ Breathe. Breathe. Breathe. Breathe. Remember how to breathe. Breathe. _

 

Harry felt sure that this was how he would finally meet his death, on the floor of the Astronomy Tower, unable to breathe, unable to think, unable to move and hidden still under his Invisibility Cloak, just as he had been on the night Dumbledore died. He wondered how long it would be until anyone found him. The thought did not help him catch his breath or slow his thundering heartbeat in the least. 

 

Although his panicked state felt as though it lasted and  _ would _ last forever, eventually his lungs cooperated. He stayed on the floor for a long time beyond that, heart slowly returning to its regular rhythm along with his breath. No more than twenty or thirty minutes had passed, for all that the panic had felt it would last until his imminent death. He stayed on the floor for another half hour after that, collecting himself.

 

_ Idiot. Weak, melodramatic idiot. Get up. _

 

Self-recrimination might not be the healthiest motivator, but after a moment it was enough to get him off the floor and onto shaky legs.

 

_ It’s just a room. Dumbledore wasn’t afraid to die. Don’t be afraid for him, you bloody idiot. _

 

Taking a few more steadying breaths, Harry leaned against a wall and looked around the room. Beyond the memories of the night where Dumbledore died and the Death Eaters invaded the school, Harry remembered charting the stars with Ron and Hermione. He could see Draco, with his wand arm raised at Dumbledore just as clearly as he could see the hesitation in his eyes and arm, and just as clearly as he could see him effortlessly writing out the stars’ positions on his map.

 

Harry remembered once looking through his telescope for Sirius’ constellation, as well as Draco’s, just out of curiosity and because having been raised as a Muggle, constellation names had been  _ weird _ and  _ interesting _ and worth the look, even if one of them was the name of a priggish enemy. He had found them both in the stars then, but there were clouds in the sky tonight and the sun was not low enough yet for the dimmer stars to shine at all, leaving Harry alone in the tower, without even the stars for company.

 

_ It’s just a classroom. Just like any other classroom. No reason to go mental. _

 

Harry stayed there for a few more moments as a tentative calm started to settle over him, the sun setting in the background. He watched the bleeding sky, thinking about how many sunsets there had been between the night Dumbledore died and today’s, but he couldn’t add them all up. Enough, he figured, that the Astronomy Tower could just be a classroom again, if he just tried hard enough. 

 

And although he still desperately wanted to be anywhere but the Astronomy Tower, he made his way down the stairs back to the seventh floor on steadier legs than he climbed them with.

 

His next stop was the Owlery. 

* * *

 

It ought to have felt less poignant for having immediately followed the place where his mentor and father figure had died, but his heart ached deeply nonetheless. Hedwig had been his first friend. His connection to the wizarding world throughout endless, torturous summers at the Dursleys'. The thought of her falling to her death in her cage was so profoundly sad that Harry felt his throat close up and his eyes water whenever he let himself think about it. Standing in the Owlery now, looking up at the dozens of owls sleeping, or flying about from one perch to another, and not seeing Hedwig’s distinctive snowy coat had him close to tears, but rather than running from the flood of memories as we had since he lost Hedwig, he let himself feel the loss.

 

It hurt so much Harry could hardly stand it, and he couldn’t stop the tears running down his face, but somehow actually letting himself feel these emotions felt like the best way he could honour Hedwig. Like he was validating her place as an important part of his life. He felt both crazy for standing there crying in the Owlery alone and as though he was  _ finally _ doing the sane thing, all at once. He felt a deep guilt for not having let himself cry for his dear Hedwig before. 

 

_ I’m sorry, Hedwig.  _

 

He could almost imagine the recriminating peck she would hit him with, the same as she would whenever he did something she did not approve of, but then Hedwig always did seem to forgive him in time. He hoped that in the afterlife she would still find it within her to forgive him. 

 

With a final look at the owls, Harry wiped his face and left the room with a final pat on its stone walls as he left. 

  
  


The next stops were briefer, as he could not actually enter the rooms: the Room of Requirement, and the Gryffindor Common room.

 

The first room was still burning with a magical fire by all accounts, so it was reasonably spelled shut, and the Gryffindor common room had been torn down in the reconstructions. He did visit the Fat Lady however, as she had been moved down to the sixth floor. She was in a busy enough corridor, but as she was no longer guarding a room, she had become just another of so many portraits lounging the walls, ignored by most. 

 

He waited until the coast was clear before taking off his Invisibility Cloak.

 

“Hello there.”

 

“Oh would you look at that! A visiting Gryffindor! How are you dearie?”

 

The Fat Lady looked positively ecstatic to have a visitor, fluffing up her skirt and running her hands along her hair. Harry imagined that she might be very lonely now that she didn’t have a quarter of the school popping by everyday to get in and out of their common room. Harry hadn’t had all that many conversations with her to be sure, mostly just saying the password and getting on with his day, but he remembered the few times they had talked and suddenly felt bad for having just muttered the password and passed her by all those years.

 

“I’m alright.”

 

“Well you’ve looked better, dearie, I’ll tell you that.”

 

Suddenly Harry felt a little less guilty.

 

“Oh, don’t mind me dearie, it’s just nice to have someone to talk to.”

 

Harry asked the question he had had at the tip of his tongue since he decided to visit the portrait.

 

“Have you been lonely, now that you’re not guarding the Gryffindor Tower?”

 

The Fat Lady finally stopped fussing with her skirts, and she looked Harry straight in the eyes. 

 

“Well, I do miss it sometimes, but life goes on you know? When you’re a painting you get a better understanding that life is unavoidable. It’s endless, and ever changing, so why get in a huff about it? I visit my friends more often now, and while I might be tasked with protecting a common room once again in the future, I can’t do anything about it now, can I? That’s the thing about portraits, dearie. We’re hung where we’re hung and that’s all we can  _ do _ really. Not like  _ you _ .”

 

Harry hadn’t expected such a profound answer to his question, but then again, he had never really questioned agency, and what that meant for humans as opposed to all of the magically alive things that he had just blindly accepted when he entered the magical world. 

 

It was that very freedom to do anything was what he struggled with, now that the war was over. He had always been told what to do. He had known he had to die for the war to end and he had accepted that. Although he had had vague thoughts of becoming an Auror, Harry had never really visualized that future, because he didn’t really think he would  _ have _ a future. He wondered if life wouldn’t be easier if he was a portrait too.

 

“Right. Well, thanks for the chat, milady.” 

 

“Oh not at all, dear, do stop by again!”

 

Harry wrapped his cloak around his shoulders and resumed his walk down the school’s many halls.

 

Although the walls of the school were saturated with memories both good and bad, it was the memories of Halloweens past that stood out to Harry the most. 

 

Having his name pulled from the Goblet of Fire. Having Sirius break in and slash the Fat Lady in an attempt to murder Peter Pettigrew and find Harry. Attending Nearly Headless Nick’s 500th deathday party. Defeating the mountain troll and becoming friends with Hermione. 

 

Beyond it being the day where Harry lost his parents, Halloween did seem like a rather eventful day in his life. It was only defeating the troll and becoming friends with Hermione however, that seemed to be the silver lining in the otherwise cursed day.

 

He almost went by to the girls’ bathroom where it all began to reminisce before he thought better of it. Surely he could reminisce about the wonderful friend he found in Hermione without going to the girls’ bathroom. Every inch of the castle held memories of his friendships. 

 

The thought of his current not-quite-friendship with Draco Malfoy came to him unbidden.

 

He couldn’t say that he had any pleasant memories of him before this year, but they were making headway now. Before he and Ron had rescued Hermione from the troll he could hardly have believed that they would become the family they were now. Could the same be said for him and Malfoy?

 

Without much thought, his feet led him to the dungeon room Malfoy so often had found himself in when Harry was following his every move on the Marauder’s Map.

 

The door looked unchanged from how it had been then, and he had not doubt that  _ Alohomora  _ would still have no effect if he were to try it. 

 

Harry considered trying out all of the new unlocking spells he had learned from the books in the library. He could admit to himself now that it had all been with the sole purpose of getting behind this door, and getting behind whatever it was that Malfoy was up to. So why couldn’t he bring himself to just spell the door open now? Or even to try?

 

He thought of the way Malfoy had looked at him calculatingly as he had handed him back the quill he had taken away from him after he had been scoring the table in his frustration. As though he knew what he was looking at, recognized it, but didn’t presume to understand it or to change how he saw or treated Harry because of it. How he had just chewed him out, and let Harry brood for as long as he had needed and then teased him almost kindly afterwards. How it had somehow been exactly what he needed then. He thought about how his unofficial half of the table was always empty now, even if it meant that Malfoy had stacks of books on the bench beside him.

 

He knew then that opening this door would be betraying what Harry was surprised to realize really _was_ a burgeoning friendship, and one that he very much cared about. He  _ wanted _ to be friends with Draco Malfoy. He wanted to start over. To do more than forgive and forget, he wanted to  _ remember _ , and  _ understand _ and still somehow forgive, even though he doubted he could ever forget. 

 

He didn’t know much about what kind of man he wanted to be because he never thought he would get to  _ be _ a man, but he did know that he wanted that much.

 

Emboldened by the sudden revelation, Harry yanked off his cloak. He knew that if he wanted to know what was behind that door and still be friends with Malfoy, there was only one way to find out. 

 

Hoping that Malfoy would be in the dungeon as he so often had been after the library was closed when Harry had been keeping tabs, Harry knocked on the door.

 

Silence greeted him. 

 

Harry felt like a bit of an idiot, but decided to knock again, already feeling the wind blow out of his sails.

 

This time, he heard a chair scraping the floor and suddenly, a very confused looking Malfoy was frowning at him from the small space between the door and its frame.

 

“Potter? What on earth are you doing here? How in the hell did you know I would be here at all?”

 

Harry realized that he hadn’t thought about exactly this next part would play out, so he did the first thing that came to mind, and told the truth.

 

“I saw you in this room often when I was trailing you earlier this year. I didn’t actually know you’d be here now I just, sort of chanced it. I was kind of hoping you’d show me what’s in there, you know, as like, a friend.”

 

Malfoy stared at him blankly for a second, clearly taken aback.

 

“I don’t even know where to begin with that, Potter.”

 

Harry wasn’t surprised at the response. After having heard himself say all that, he wasn’t sure what, if anything, one could say in response.

 

“Er, right. Well, you see-”, Harry paused, not actually knowing where he was going with this, and not capable of simply saying ‘I decided I wanted to be your friend, and also I want to know all your secrets’. 

 

Malfoy was frowning at him quite fiercely now, as though he had decided that Harry must be up to something, or that he was having a laugh at his expense, but he couldn’t quite figure out how. Harry rushed to disprove him.

 

“I mean, I know that it’s not actually much, but our study sessions have been good, right? And I mean, Hagrid and McGonagall and Flitwick and Sprout all seem to get on really well with you all of a sudden, so that’s gotta mean something, right? And anyway I don’t want to be your enemy anymore so we might as well be friends, right?”

 

Harry bit his tongue before he could say ‘right?’ again. He was suddenly reminded of how tongue-tied he had been around Cho Chang. Merlin, first the girl he had a crush on and now Malfoy. A broad spectrum of people he couldn’t be articulate around.

 

“Let me get this right, Potter. You no longer want to be enemies, so you stalk me, spy on my relationships with the Hogwarts faculty members, intrude upon first my study sessions and now my time in the dungeon room that I have kept secret from everyone in the castle. And this is you wanting to be friends with me?”

 

“Well, when you put it like that I sound like a bit of a loon.”

 

Malfoy stared at him drily, clearly saying “a _bit_?” with nothing but a raised pale blond eyebrow.

 

“RIght, well let’s start over then shall we?”

 

Harry stuck out his open hand.

 

“Hi, I’m Harry, nice to meet you.”

 

Malfoy stared at the hand and back to Harry just as drily as before, and for a second Harry was afraid that Malfoy would leave him hanging there, or refuse to shake his hand, just as Harry had when he had been eleven, and principled, and reminded so strongly of his wretched cousin that he couldn’t imagine wanting to do anything  _ less _ than to shake the snobby blond kid’s hand. 

 

He realized that it was a very unpleasant feeling indeed to have someone refuse your hand in friendship, but that if Malfoy refused him, he would be pretty justified in doing so. 

 

Before his outstretched hand could truly waver however, he felt Malfoy’s long, warm and dry fingers wrap around his hand, and lightly squeeze. A pause before he spoke, warm hand still clasped around his.

 

“I’m Draco. Nice to meet you too.”

 

Draco’s face was inscrutable as he looked into Harry’s eyes. Harry was profoundly grateful that his act of friendship had been accepted for what it was, and tentatively reciprocated. He still felt compelled to do more, or say something, but before he could figure out what that may be, Draco seemed to find what he was looking for in Harry's face, and he inched the door open slightly farther, his body still hiding whatever was behind there.

 

“...Would you like to come in,” then the slightest beat “Harry?”

 

Draco’s face was still unreadable, but Harry got the sudden gut feeling that Draco was acting on the same pervasive curiosity over Harry that had been acting on over Draco thus far. Maybe mutual curiosity was as good a foundation for friendship as anything.

 

“Sure. Thanks, Draco.”

 

Then Draco stepped aside and led Harry into the room in the dungeon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to every one who has left kudos and commented so far, I love all of you. Please leave a comment about your thoughts and feelings on the story so far or if you want to discuss anything that has happened so far!!


	13. The Room in the Dungeon

The room in the dungeon was a laboratory. Or at least, it looked exactly like what Harry had always pictured a laboratory would look like. There were pieces of parchment stuck to most of two of the walls, calculations covering close to every inch of them. Although he recognized a couple of sketches of the castle and of Nancy, most of what he was looking at was completely beyond him at first glance.

 

Off to one side of the room, there was a long wide table, covered with potions equipment, and a small terrarium that housed a series of plants Harry was sure that they had covered at some point during their Herbology classes but that he could no longer remember the names or properties of. 

 

In the opposite corner, there was corner bookshelf that was close to overflowing, books seeming to have been originally carefully organized but then having been crammed in wherever they could fit. 

 

Across from that was a leather sofa that Harry thought he recognized from the Slytherin common room.

 

He turned to Draco to make a comment about it before he realized that he wasn’t supposed to know about the couches in the Slytherin common room. As it was, Draco was standing awkwardly by the door, clearly uncomfortable and unsure about the whole situation.

 

Harry took pity on him and broke the silence.

 

“Cool lab.”

 

And although Harry winced internally, feeling like he could not possibly have said anything duller, Draco’s shoulders relaxed marginally, and the tight grip he had still had on the doorknob loosened.

 

“...Thank you. Would-”, Draco paused for a second, clearly struggling to make sense of the situation at hand, trying as hard as Harry was not to do anything that would break the fragile thing they were building together just then. “Would you like to know about the projects I’m currently working on?”

 

“Yeah,” said Harry, smiling encouragingly. “I really would.”

 

Harry both was and was not surprised to find out that the vast majority of the work on the walls and the work table circled back to the Room of Requirement. 

 

He listened on carefully, attentively, and trying as much as he could to keep a neutral face throughout Draco’s explanations of the magic-dousing properties of the Saggle sap, and how Nancy’s fire was proving to be a helpful testing tool except that she was now so docile that getting her to spit fire was becoming a challenge, and how Draco could  _ feel _ that he was at the edge of some kind of breakthrough but that he couldn’t quite fit all of the pieces in together.

 

He had a certain obsessive glint in his eye that Harry suddenly realized must have been what Hermione saw in him everytime he went off about Malfoy and Snape and how they were surely plotting against him. He felt all the more compelled to support Draco now, not only out of caution for their tentative new friendship, but also because frankly, being called out on an obsession just kind of sucked.

 

Eventually, Draco slowed in his explanations, and just looked at Harry. They were sitting on opposite ends of the Slytherin Common Room couch that Harry still did not mention he recognized, with a few pieces of parchment between them that Draco had used to illustrate the point he was trying to make about the quantum properties of the room and how perhaps the fire both was  _ and _ wasn’t still burning in the room. Harry had nodded along and pretended that he understood but he had honestly been lost for most of the explanations, even before they got so abstract and theoretical.

 

Draco was still looking at him, the silence stretching long and almost uncomfortable.

 

“...Potter, what are you really doing here? What’s your endgame?”

 

Harry half-smiled, and flatly joked “Who’s Potter? I just said my name was Harry”.

 

Malfoy stared back unamused.

 

Harry stared back for as long as he could before he could before he had to look away. It felt as though Malfoy was trying to read his soul, or his mind, and although he could not feel the tell-tale push of Legilimency at the edges of his consciousness, the thought of it alone was enough to set Harry on edge.

 

“...I’ve been having a shit day. Shit life, really.”

 

He looked at Malfoy, who was still looking at him as blankly as ever. 

 

_ Drama queen, _ he thought self-deprecatingly.

 

“Not that it’s  _ all _ shit! I mean, I’ve got Ron and Hermione, and my friends and the rest of the Weasleys… it’s just-” He struggled to put words to his discontentment that wouldn’t sound as self-pitying as we felt. “Halloween is not my favourite day. I wasn’t having a good day, and I was thinking about all the ways that this day has been a bad one in the past and then before I realized I was thinking about the troll, from our first year, do you remember?”

 

Malfoy raised an elegant eyebrow at him. 

 

“Hard to forget.”

 

Harry closed his eyes for a moment. Dumb question.

 

“Er-right, well, that’s how Hermione became friends with us. With Ron and me, I mean, not  _ us _ us-- anyways. And then, I guess I just got to thinking about friendships. And how--”

 

Harry stopped for a moment, trying to gather his thoughts. Trying to figure out the least embarrassing way to say what had been going through his mind when he decided to knock on that door.

 

“Well, I’m  _ tired _ of having enemies, you know? I feel as though I can’t remember ever having a time in my life where I didn’t have an enemy.” 

 

He looked at Draco quickly, before looking back down at his hands.

 

“I’m just- tired of it, I guess. And I figured, Voldemort is dead, I never have to go back to the Dursley’s again, and the Aurors are doing a fine enough job of rounding up the last of the Death Eaters so…”

 

Harry shrugged, and looked up at Draco.

 

“Suddenly you were the last one, and I didn’t want you to be my enemy anymore. Is it just me?”

 

Harry maintained eye contact with Draco as the blond slowly shook his head, looking very serious indeed.

 

“No, Potter, it’s not just you.”

 

“Harry.”

 

Draco smiled with his eyes even as his mouth kept its severity.

 

“Sorry. Harry. I do know what it’s like to want to not have enemies though.”

 

Harry was sure he did. It occurred to him that it must not be easy to walk around the castle with everyone knowing you had fought for Lord Voldemort’s side, regardless of how much or little you may have wanted to. Harry grinned ruefully back at Draco.

 

“So. I guess... Friends then?”

 

“Well we already shook hands on it, how much more official would you like to make it?”

 

Harry shrugged, in much higher spirits than he had been all day, or for much of the week, really.

 

“You got a cuppa in here somewhere?”

 

They had tea and shared the last of the treats the house elves had packed for Harry before Draco pointed out the late hour, and they made their way up to the seventh floor, with Harry poking fun at Draco’s slowing pace with every other floor once again.

 

Just as it had been the night after Nancy’s birthday party, there was a sense of levity in Harry, as though everything had somehow turned out to be better than expected. Pleasant. Nice. 

 

When they reached the top of the stairs Harry waited once more for Draco to catch his breath. It did seem as though it was taking less time and effort than it had done last month. It irrationally made Harry optimistic about all sorts of things, and while Harry felt slightly foolish for it, he let the optimism warm his regardless.

 

“Alright well, thanks for tonight, Draco.”

 

Draco looked up at him from where he was still half crouched. His face was still doing its usual thing where Harry couldn’t be sure what, if anything, Draco was thinking and feeling, but after an evening of that look over tea and delicate chit-chatting, Harry felt as though he could almost make sense of the minute jump of a cheek muscle, or the rapid half-blink of a grey eye. Harry thought he could make out well-intentioned and cautious curiosity behind Draco’s cool facade and having those feelings reflected warmed him as well.

 

“I er-, I know I sort of pushed you into it, but I appreciate you having let me into your lab. And the tea. And the er-” Harry trailed off, not knowing how to thank Draco for the company, or the friendship without sounding like a knob.

 

“That’s quite alright, Harry. It was my-- pleasure.” 

 

Draco sounded shocked at his own admission. Harry realized that Draco, for all his outward poise and the sense of put-togetherness he projected, was possibly navigating their new-found friendship as stunned and awkwardly as Harry was. The proposition comforted Harry greatly.

 

“So…. Library tomorrow after classes?”

 

Draco raised his eyebrows at him with smiling eyes.

 

“I don’t know if I could stop you from crashing my study sessions if I tried, Potter.”

  
  
  


They kept up their study sessions, daily now that midterms had really gone into full-swing. Harry deeply regretted having signed up for so many courses this year, and thoroughly cursed Hermione out in his head for having somehow convinced him that it wasn’t  _ that  _ many courses _ at all _ .

 

Thankfully, Draco finally seemed to be getting as frazzled by academia as Harry was. He had been infuriatingly implacable during their study sessions previously, making Harry feel like even more of a moron than usual when staring down at the same potions page for an hour, as he so often was.

 

On Wednesday, the pair were once more kicked out by Madam Pince at eight o’clock as the library closed. While Harry was starving, he was more annoyed at having had his studying interrupted. He had finally gotten into the groove for his History of Magic reading. It had felt like such a landmark.

 

“Off to dinner then, Harry?”

 

Draco was looking down at his books as he carefully packed everything into his bookbag, which looked absolutely full to burst.

 

“Actually I think I might just grab a quick bite from the kitchens and find somewhere to keep studying. I’m at the vampire accords part of the history reading and at the risk of sounding like a nerd, I am actually too interested in finding out about this to focus on dinner.”

 

“Nerd.”

 

Harry grinned and rolled his eyes at the top of the blond’s head.

 

“...would you like to study in the lab with me? Rather quieter than the common room.”

 

He was still looking down at the table as he put book after book away into his bag, although there was no reason to focus on the task at hand so intently. The casual tone of the question didn’t fool Harry for a minute into thinking that this wasn’t a big deal. Draco inviting him into his sanctum sanctorum was a big deal.

 

“...Sure, yeah, thanks Draco, that’d be nice.”

 

Draco looked up at him then with his usual serious face, but with a crinkle at the corner of his eyes.

 

“Right. Price of admission is a beef Wellington sandwich from the kitchen and a chocolate pudding. Don’t bother coming without them, Potter.”

 

And with that Draco swung his massively full bag over a shoulder and walked off to the dungeons.

 

Harry grabbed the last of his things and left for the kitchens with a spring in his step. 

 

The house elves were almost too happy to acquiesce to his request of some beef Wellington sandwiches, and they sent him off to the dungeon with a basket filled to the top with sandwiches and a selection of chocolate puddings that had Harry’s stomach gurgling.

 

When he got to the door to Draco’s lab, he knocked, and like magic, the door opened.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The nightmare has happened and I officially have run out of buffer chapters, I only have one more completed chapter after this one ahhhhhhhhh I need to push through this block and just write like mad because I don't want to get off schedule. 
> 
> Thank you to every single one of you who have commented, reading through them was the only thing that got me past the last couple of chapters! I cannot believe people are enjoying this as much as they are but I will continue trying to do y'all proud <3


	14. Word Wounds

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok so I know it's been a minute.
> 
>  
> 
> I have had this chapter laying about for a while, but near the end of summer last year I struggled with my mental illness and also became very ill because I contracted an intestinal parasite??? For months I was very weak, and even though I'm still not fully healed, I've been doing much better, and my depression is under control, and life is going well, which has given me the courage I need to come back to this work. What really did it was the fact that I have been receiving kudos on this in the past few weeks despite not having updated since July, which was a really lovely reminder that someone out there enjoyed reading this.
> 
> So, with my many apologies for the delay, and unending gratitude for your continued support, here is the latest chapter of When Your Heart is Aching.

Eating together, aside from studying, seemed to be the safest thing they could do, as Harry was still afraid that he might say the wrong thing and ruin everything they had built so far. He thought that Draco might feel the same, as their study sessions in the library remained as quiet as ever. Dinner in the laboratory after Pince kicked them out of the library was becoming a fairly regular occurrence however and they spoke during their meals and during their study time in the lab, as their usual silence was less sustainable when they were out of the library’s hush. Conversation was almost exclusively about the assigned readings or homework however, which Harry was surprised to find he was quite enjoying this year, for all that he was so busy he could hardly afford to stop thinking about school work in his sleep.

 

It occurred to Harry once again, incredulously, that this was the first school year in his magical education career where nothing out of the ordinary was happening. There were no mysteries for him to solve, no suspicious professors, no escaped convict out to murder him. 

 

It did wonders for his study habits. 

 

At the moment, he found himself on Draco’s couch, having just finished their debate on the correct way to care for  _ Digitalis Purpura _ if one was growing the flower for a medical potion over dinner. The conversation had been interesting, and intellectually challenging, as academic debate with Malfoy often proved to be, and Harry was feeling a warmth in his stomach at the comfortable conversation. 

 

It made him want to talk with Draco more, over anything, over something beyond school work. Harry felt as though he were planning on treading uncharted waters, but he felt less nervous than he had been around Draco so far. He felt bold and reckless.

 

“So, er- you’ve really got a lot of stuff here, Draco. Did you ever get around to perfecting that Visibility Mirror?”

 

Draco’s eyes crinkled in a smile over the rim of his teacup, the smell of his usual digestive peppermint tea reaching Harry from across the couch.

 

“No, I haven’t had the time. In case you hadn’t noticed we  _ do _ have midterms until the end of time to study for. Between that and my other projects I haven’t really any time at all.”

 

“You  _ do _ spend an awful lot of time in the library.”

 

“Well you would know wouldn’t you? You seem to have made it your life’s mission to annoy me there. Can’t remember the last time I had that table all to myself. Quite crowded with two, you know.”

 

Harry rolled his eyes.

 

“I have to admit that I was surprised though, I don’t think I ever saw you studying without Granger and Weasley before. I was convinced you were completely incapable of independent thought and action.”

 

Although the words could have been as sharp a jab as any he had thrown at Harry in the past, Draco delivered his lines with a certain softness in his features that belied his friendly intent. Harry simply pushed at him with his foot as he turned himself around to face Draco and rest his feet on the couch. He had to admit that the well-worn Slytherin leather couch was very comfortable indeed. He hadn’t told Draco that he recognized it the first time he was here, and by now it felt like a fun secret to keep to himself. A touch of sentimentality that Harry recognized in Draco that he could keep to himself.

 

“Prat. Hermione and Ron’s study sessions tend to end up being make out sessions in the best of scenarios nowadays, meaning I end up having to awkwardly ignore them, leave, or just stand the thickening sexual tension. I’m shocked they’re not failing all their classes actually, with how little studying they seem to get done. Well no, Hermione could probably have sat her NEWTs when we were in the Forest of Dean and still have gotten Os on everything. Ron is a different matter altogether.”

 

Draco looked on with his lips pursed tightly together, as though he was physically holding himself back from making a disparaging comment about Harry’s friends. Harry did seem to have handed the opportunity to him on a silver platter. Instead Draco replied with a “Quite.” that was about as diplomatic as he could manage. Harry raised his eyebrows and half nodded at Draco, grinning approvingly at his self-restraint. Draco gave him a long-suffering stare back.

 

“Right, well, all this to say that studying in the library with you tends to yield more productive results. You saw that aging potion a few weeks ago, and the potions since?”

 

“Kind of hard not to when you make it a point to flaunt them at me, Potter.”

 

Harry laughed and didn’t bother correcting him on not using his given name. It was an old habit that was proving hard to break.

 

“I was just- proud I guess. Studying with you seems to be the only thing that gets me to pay attention to the blasted Potions readings.”

 

“Afraid to lose to me at studying, perhaps?

 

Harry grinned, “I don’t have a competitive bone in my body, Malfoy.”

 

Draco was still sat across from him very primly on the opposite end of the couch, but the scoff of laughter seemed to indicate to Harry that he was more relaxed and at ease than his stiff posture would have one believe. He was deeply satisfied at how easily the conversation was flowing, encouraged to keep talking to Draco about topics more personal than the latest Herbology assignment.

 

“I do seem to recall that you were doing fairly well for yourself in Potions during our sixth year, however. Have you got another study competitor I should know about, perhaps?”

 

Harry grinned, but took a moment to reply, not knowing how to, or if he felt comfortable confiding in Malfoy about the the Half-Blood Prince’s book. Malfoy looked slightly tenser than he had a moment ago, clearly sensing that he had stepped on a mine, but not knowing what it could have been. In the end, Harry felt as though there was likely no one more suited to discussing Snape’s book with than Draco himself.

 

“I, er- I had a different book that year. Snape’s book, actually. He had all these notes in the margins about the better way to get anything done. A bloody great deal more helpful than he ever was in his lessons.”

 

“So you’re telling me you had the Potions Master’s book for the entirety of our sixth year. And nobody called you out on it.”

 

Draco looked shocked, and mildly impressed.

 

“Merlin, Potter, the things you get away with, I swear.”

 

Draco drained the last of his tea and put the cup down on the coffee table in front of them only long enough to refill it before he was sipping at it once more.

 

“I guess it’s a good thing though. I was bloody furious when you won the Felix Felicis but I’m dead glad you did  _ now. _ ”

 

It was a heavy confession, and it hung in the air around them for a long moment, their past histories coming to light, coloured by guilt and remorse. Harry felt suffocated by it.

 

“...I almost  _ didn’t _ get away with it, you know. Snape got suspicious and I had to pretend Ron’s book was mine. Flat out told him my nickname was Roonil Wazlib to get away with that one; thank Merlin for the twins’ joke quills.”

 

Draco stared at him gob-smacked before letting out a snort of laughter.

 

“ _ Merlin Almighty, Potter.” _

 

Harry watched with a broad smile on his face as Draco Malfoy laughed on the couch. Harry couldn’t remember ever having seen him laugh before, unless it was a cruel, sneering cackle at his expense. A genuine laugh changed his features dramatically. It suited him. Soon Harry was chuckling along with him.

 

When their laughter died down, Draco leaned back towards the couch and rested his head on the back of it, grinning at the stone ceiling.

 

“Merlin, I needed that. Roonil Wazlib,” something like a giggle escaped him then. “I wish I could have seen his face.”

 

He looked slightly mournful around the eyes, going silent and serious quite quickly. 

 

Although he didn’t know what on earth compelled him to say anything, much less say what he did, Harry suddenly broke the silence.

 

“It was in that book that I found the spell I hit you with. The Half-Blood Prince-- Snape, had written it in a margin, with “For enemies” written below it. I-” Harry paused, not knowing how to say what he was feeling. “I didn’t know what it did, and I shouldn’t have cast that at you. I mean, you were casting the Cruciatus at me and I just reacted in self-defense, and I can’t say I’m sorry I didn’t let you hit me with an Unforgivable but…. I think what I’m trying to say is that, I’m sorry all of that even happened.” 

 

Harry looked up from where he had been frowning at his knees to Draco, who was looking at him intensely.

 

“...Potter, you can’t possibly think that you owe me an apology for that night. Harry, I threw a _bloody Cruciatus_ at you. I was planning on killing Dumbledore, and having _Death Eaters_ _take Hogwarts._ ” 

 

Draco looked haunted, and angry at Harry all at once.

 

“ _ I’m _ sorry that Severus walked in on us.”

 

Harry and Draco sat staring at each other, the gravity of that simple statement hanging over them both. Harry couldn’t find anything to say to that. After an interminable moment of silence, Draco put his tea cup down, and opened one of the many textbooks around him.

 

“Get to studying, Harry.”

 

Draco stared resolutely at the book in his hands, and with that, the two boys went back to their silent study for the rest of the evening, although Harry didn’t manage to absorb another word of the Herbology reading in his lap.

 

The thought of Draco bleeding out on the floor without Snape rushing in to save him was playing out in a loop in his mind’s eye, chilling him from the inside. He pushed the thought away as best he could, trying to focus on the text in his hands to slow his racing heart down, but only the calming scent of peppermint tea and the sound of Draco’s breathing seemed to soothe him.

  
  


Although neither Harry nor Draco talked about the conversation again, Harry knew it was still on both their minds by the return to studying exclusively in the library, in a seldom broken silence. Harry tried to take comfort in the fact that while Draco had not invited him back to his laboratory, he had not gone so far as to avoid the library, and in doing so, avoid Harry altogether. 

 

During the days that they didn’t study together in the library, Harry was spending time with his old Gryffindor friends, namely Ginny and Neville, as Ron and Hermione were finally buckling down and studying like mad to make up for their previously lax “study sessions”.

 

He knew had not been as kind to them as they deserved around Halloween, and although neither of them had tried bringing the topic up again in the few times he had seen them since, Harry still felt the underlying guilt in the pit of his stomach with every pregnant pause in their usually free-flowing conversation. Between the tension with Malfoy and the tension with Ron and Hermione, Harry was feeling as though a Flobberworm could probably be a better friend than he was. 

 

He tried not to focus on his self-pity too much as he, Ginny and Luna helped Neville transfer some of the outdoor plants into the greenhouses for the oncoming winter.

 

“Thanks for helping guys, I really didn’t realize how much work I was signing myself up for when I begged Professor Sprout to let me start my apprenticeship during the seventh year repeat…”

 

Neville did look rather frazzled, but he seemed to be happy to have secured the apprenticeship regardless of his occasional complaints over the loss of sleep.

 

“S’alright, Nev, glad to help.” 

 

Neville grinned at Harry and clapped him on the shoulder even as he gently levitated a row of gently squirming plants ahead of him.

 

“Oi, Neville, does this mean we’re also technically Sprout’s apprentices?”

 

Ginny was kneeling on the ground with Luna, carefully digging up the more delicate plants with gentle fingers before Harry put them in their pots and prepped them for the winter. Ginny hadn’t stopped making ‘Potter the potter’ jokes all afternoon.

 

“Very funny, Ginny. Want to help grade the First Year papers then? You should see what some of these kids have to say about Devil’s Snare, it’s astounding.” 

 

Harry snickered as Ginny stuck her tongue out at Neville in response, and finished potting up the colour changing plant in his hands. Looking at Ginny now, Harry felt a strange sort of dissonance, where he absolutely understood how he had fallen in love with her, how  _ anyone _ would fall in love with her, all the while feeling nothing but platonic love for her. He was glad that Ginny was so adept at making friends, as Harry would have been devastated to lose her as a friend just because he was unable to maintain a relationship with her. 

 

Harry’s admiration for Ginny sparked a thought in him.

 

“Hey Ginny, can I ask you a question?”

 

“Sure, what is it potter Potter?”

 

Harry rolled his eyes at the pun, as he had every time she made it.

 

“Well, er-- how is it that we’re still friends even after I buggered up our relationship? I mean, how did you manage that?”

 

Ginny stared at him blankly, then snorted right in his face.

 

“Blimey Harry, maybe it’s because I have enough tact not to ask pointy questions like that out of nowhere?” Ginny looked on at Harry in amusement, but it turned to slight pity as she looked closely at his face. “Argh, I mean, I kept it light, you know? We broke up, but if I had let it get as tense and awkward as it seemed you were going to let it get to, we would have had a hard time getting over that, right?” Ginny smiled at him gently. “I mean, no offense Harry, but you do have a tendency towards the tense and awkward.”

 

Harry resolutely did not think of his last interaction with Draco in his lab.

 

“Anyway, it also worked out because we both really wanted to be friends, and both of us realized we would be better of as that, than with me as your girlfriend. We both know you didn’t really want or need a girlfriend as much as you needed a friend.”

 

It wasn’t until Ginny had said it that Harry realized she was right; he had thought that with Ron and Hermione together he wanted a relationship for himself, someone to celebrate the end of the war and being alive with. But the fact of the matter was that with his friends paired off, and so many dead, what Harry had needed most was simply a friend, the kind Ginny had been to him. Someone to keep his mind off of the demons that stayed with him after the war, and who brightened his mood effortlessly. And maybe that was what Ginny needed too. Harry remembered her crying over Fred so many times, and he remembered how she had woken up from nightmares when they had fallen asleep together more than once, and how she had needed to be held and comforted, but nothing more. They benefited from each other more as friends than as lovers.

 

“...Do I really make things tense and awkward that much?”

 

“Well, Harry, you did just make poor Luna sit through a heavy conversation about our romantic history, tensely and awkwardly.”

 

Harry startled, having momentarily forgotten that Luna was there at all. 

 

“Oh it’s alright Harry, I didn’t mind, the wrackspurts around your head have been going mad these past few days. Anything to dispel them is quite alright.”

 

Harry groaned in response. “I’m sorry Luna.”

 

He really was hopeless. He thought back to what Ginny said though, about how she hadn’t let things get tense and awkward and how that had been enough to salve their friendship. Suddenly, it seemed imperative that he go find Draco.

 

“Also, I’ve got to go. Sorry, guys.”

 

He dashed off towards the castle, intent on fixing his friendship with Draco before it was too late. Sounding farther and farther away with every second, came Ginny’s cry.

 

“What? But Harry! What are we going to do without our potter?!” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Although I would love to say that I'll be getting back on the weekly updates train, I cannot guarantee that, and frankly after several months of not writing I'm a little daunted at the prospect of writing on a schedule. I promise however that this isn't the last of the story, and that I'll be doing my best to put out work regularly.
> 
> A million thank yous again to all of you who have read and commented and left kudos, particularly those of you who have found this work in the last few weeks. You are all wildly appreciated.


	15. Reparations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What's this? Another chapter in a weekly posting schedule type timeframe? How long will I be able to keep THIS up?
> 
> Many thanks to my lovely Hana for beta-reading me once again, I am unworthy.

Draco wasn’t in the library, and unless he was ignoring Harry’s insistent knocks, he wasn’t in the laboratory either. 

 

Harry wracked his brain for a moment, trying to think where he might be, before he decided to just fetch the Marauder’s Map and speed up the job. On his way up to the seventh floor however, fortune dropped him in Draco’s lap-- quite literally. He had bowled over the blond as he rounded the corner leading out of the dungeon, and they were both on the ground, momentarily stunned. Draco’s hand had shot up to the back of his head.

 

“ _ Shit _ ,  _ sorry Draco are you alright?” _

 

Leave it to Harry to concuss the person he was looking to patch things up with.

 

“Harry, where on earth did you need to get to so fast that you’re going around knocking people to the ground on your way there?”

 

Harry knelt up in between Draco’s legs and straightened his hair, shirt and glasses, all of which had become askew in their fall, and looked down at Draco, who in turn was looking up at him sternly.

 

“Er- I was looking for you, actually.”

 

Draco stared up at him as though the proposition that anyone could be looking for him was ludicrous.

 

“What on earth for, Potter?” 

 

It then occurred to Harry, that he didn’t actually have a plan beyond finding Draco, and making sure that the tension between them didn’t ruin the friendship Harry realized he had worked so hard on.

 

“Er-- I guess to hang out?” 

 

Draco looked at him as though Harry had grown two heads.

 

“Er-- outside of studying I mean! We’re  _ always _ studying, and I know you must have other stuff going on, so… you know, I guess I thought we could do that.”

 

Not his most articulate, but Harry hoped that the sincerity behind the sentiment was enough to not put Draco off. Draco looked at him intently, and suddenly Harry realized they were still on the floor. He hastily got up, straightening his robes haphazardly before reaching a hand out to Draco, who took it, pulling himself up as well before elegantly setting himself to rights.

 

“...I was going to work on the castle, as a matter of fact. Reparations. You probably have better stuff to do.”

 

Harry felt the pang of guilt again at not having worked on Hogwarts repairs over the summer, like the professors and Malfoy had. It made his decision quite simple.

 

“Not at all, there’s actually nothing I’d rather be doing.” 

 

Draco looked at him quizzically at the emphatic delivery, but he simply nodded and started walking in the direction he had been going before Harry ran him over.

 

“Alright, then. This way, Potter.”

 

Draco lead them up the stairs towards a corridor in the fifth floor that Harry didn’t recall ever having used. Draco explained that this hall had been used as guest rooms for visiting scholars or guests of the faculty before the war, and that it never got very frequent use, meaning that it had been low on the priorities list when the time came to rebuild. Since the sixth years were moved to the fifth floor however, wandering couples have been exploring the floor more and more, and suddenly repairing the weakened infrastructure became important.

 

“Bloody hormonal kids. You’d think as sixth years they’d have more important things to worry about.”

 

Harry thought about their sixth year. Learning about the horcruxes, balancing the war and his studies and spying on Draco. He thought about what that year must have been like for Draco; being a new Death Eater, and tasked with killing Dumbledore at sixteen. Knowing your family’s lives were on the line if you failed, and that the Light and Hogwarts were on the line if you succeeded. 

 

He thought of their encounter in the bathroom, and seeing Draco in tears as the weight of his duties brought him down.

 

“God knows we did.”

 

Harry knew as soon as he said it that that was the kind of comment Ginny had been talking about when she accused him of tending towards the tense and awkward, by the heavy silence that followed. He grasped at a way to reduce the tension.

 

“Although I have to say, it would have been nice to have someone to fool around with. Reckon it would’ve been a nice break from the whole ‘have to kill the most powerful Dark wizard in the world who is also practically immortal’ thing.”

 

Draco snorted a surprised laugh. 

 

“What, Potter, you mean to say you  _ weren’t _ shagging your way through Hogwarts in between bouts of saviourhood? Disappointing.” 

 

Harry rolled his eyes.

 

“Well someone  _ did _ try to slip me some love potion via Chocolate Cauldrons. Got Ron instead, poor bugger.”

 

Draco snickered.

 

“Merlin, Harry, do you really have people send you love potions? I thought that was all Witch Weekly tosh.”

 

“Well it’s not a bloody regular occurance, it was just the once, thank heavens.”

 

Harry couldn’t stomach the thought of being subjected to a love potion; it seemed too close to the Imperius for his liking.

 

“Not that you need it anyways, isn’t that right, Potter? Bet you have your pick of the pack, being the saviour of the wizarding world.”

 

Draco’s comment sounded as though it was intended to be light-hearted, but it came out slightly forced instead. Harry wondered if this was something Draco resented, another downfall of having fought for the losing side; no one wanted to shag you.

 

“Ginny said the same, I don’t know why anyone would think that though; it’s not as though I won the war single-handed. Also, I don’t bloody want to shag someone who wants me just because of who I  _ am _ , you know?”

 

Draco shoot him an inscrutable look, and kept walking up the stairs. They were almost at the fifth floor now.

 

“You’d rather people just shag you for your good looks then?”

 

Draco turned and smirked at him, and Harry felt himself grow warm in the face even as he rolled his eyes.

 

“Prat. You know what I mean. I’d want someone to shag me because I’m me, and not ‘Chosen One, Harry Potter, Saviour whatever’.”

 

Draco stopped and stared at him on the landing of the fifth floor.

 

“Harry, you might have to make peace with the fact that that legacy is part of the ‘you’ package for good, if you ever want to get shagged again.” 

 

He turned and started walking down the hall.

 

“Salazar knows  _ I _ did.”

 

Harry felt the weight of Draco’s post-war legacy in the words unsaid and suddenly thought he might not be the only one with a gift for the tense and awkward.

 

* * *

 

In the end, they worked on strengthening the spells cast on the stone walls in companionable silence until it was nearly time for dinner. Draco cast the spell with a practised ease that spoke of many an hour working on castle repairs, and while Harry was curious to hear about Draco’s summer, he couldn’t find a way to bring up the reparations without bringing back the heavy silence. 

 

“Hey Draco, what do you do for fun?”

 

Draco looked up from the stone he was working on with a frown on his face.

 

“What do you mean, what do I do for fun?”

 

Harry shrugged as he cast the strengthening spell, causing the stone he had cast it on to wobble slightly instead of anchoring itself with the glow of magic the way it was meant to. Draco cast a charm at it lazily, and the stone suddenly fixed itself, as firm as anything, to the structures surrounding it.

 

“Cheers. I mean, what do you do for fun? You know, stuff that isn’t studying, or your projects around the repairs or Room of Requirement, or homework, or the reparations. Fun.”

 

Draco frowned at Harry for a long while, before he turned around and worked on the last of the stones in the room.

 

“...I think my projects should count as ‘things I do for fun’.”

 

Harry rolled his eyes at him.

 

“Only if you  _ are _ a massive nerd after all.”

 

Draco glared at him as he put his wand away, made his way out the room and started them down the stairs towards the Great Hall.

 

“Oh, come off it, you know what I mean! Fun!”

 

Draco pursed his lips in a manner that strongly reminded Harry of Draco’s mother, and the way that Narcissa always looked as though she was smelling something foul. It looked much better of Draco for some reason.

 

“...I can’t say that I do much outside of those activities these days.”

 

The admission sounded as though it had been painful, and Harry resisted the temptation to tease him for it.

 

“Alright well, that’s just not right. You need a break from working so hard all the time, Malfoy, or you’re going to combust. Have some fun, for goodness’ sake.”

 

“...Alright, sure. What did you have in mind?”

 

Harry blanked for a moment, unsurprisingly not having thought this out so far. 

 

“Er, I mean, how’s about a Seeker’s game out on the Quidditch pitch? I saw the Ravenclaw team finishing up when I was working on the stones by the window. I doubt anyone booked it for now, considering dinner’s about to start. I’m not that hungry anyways, so what do you say; fancy a friendly one on one?”

 

Harry grinned at Draco optimistically. Draco would never turn down a Quidditch challenge from Harry, he was sure of it. He was glad for his quick thinking, since he really didn’t know what else Draco might do for fun.

 

The silence stretched on for a long while however, and Harry’s grin wavered at the corners. 

 

Draco seemed to have turned to stone, and despite having thought that progress was being made in his ability to read Draco’s impassive facade, Harry couldn’t tell what was going on behind Draco’s grey eyes at all.

 

They stood in the hall for a long pause, Harry feeling like a total berk, before a wandering third year broke the tension by running past them to dinner. Draco seemed to come back to life from his eerie stillness, and before Harry could retract his Quidditch invitation (since that had clearly been some kind of faux pas judging by the delay in Draco’s reaction), Draco spoke.

 

“... I haven’t flown in a while. Not sure if I’ll be a decent challenger for the mighty Seeker Potter.”

 

His tone was slightly off from the lighthearted taunt Harry could tell he was going for, but Harry didn’t know what to do beyond follow his lead.

 

“Well to be fair, I’m admittedly not the worthiest challenger for our usual study competitions, so I won’t hold it against you.”

 

Draco smiled very slightly at that, and his shoulders dropped minutely. Harry nearly preened at having managed to diffuse their tension, despite not even knowing how he had managed to bring it about once again. 

 

“Race you to our brooms?”

 

“I’m not racing you up the stairs to the top of the bloody castle, Potter, there’s only so much losing to you my pride can handle.”

 

Harry laughed and set off at a leisurely pace, not even teasing Draco as he slowed around the sixth floor. The scowl Draco shot him regardless almost had him laughing again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to every single one of you who has left kudos, or commented on this work, I can't say how much it meant to me to receive those notifications after being away from this work for so long. I hope you all keep enjoying this story as it develops!


	16. A Turbulent Flight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning for a panic attack, for any of you who would like to avoid that kind of stuff! The next couple of chapters are much lighter I swear lololol

They got their brooms and rather than going down the stairs to the pitch, Draco waved off the wards along one of the windows, which allowed them to jump out and onto their brooms from there. 

 

Harry went first, jumping out gleefully, and zooming about in circles for a moment, glad to be back on a broom for what felt like the first time in ages. The grip on his Firebolt felt familiar and comforting, the polished wood nestling between his legs and under his gloved hands as though they were meant to be there. The air was cold against his face, particularly at their current altitude, but the briskness of it felt refreshing and energizing, so he didn’t bother with a warming charm. 

 

He turned to look at Draco, only to realize that he was still standing on the window still. He was clenching the top of the window frame with one hand, and his slick dark wood Nimbus 2001 in the other. He looked even paler than usual, his white blonde hair and ashen face standing out starkly against his black riding clothes. Harry was about to turn back to see what could be the matter when suddenly Draco jumped out, seating himself on his broom in mid-air elegantly, as though he hadn’t looked deathly afraid just a moment ago. 

 

Harry flew to him, intent on checking up on Draco, but the blond simply shot off at top speed away from him, and towards the Quidditch pitch. Concerned, Harry followed, unsure of what was the matter and how to make this better, but unwilling to let Draco go on like this.

 

He was prepared for a long pursuit, but before they could get very far, Draco began to descend, aiming for just shy of the Quidditch pitch, ending up below the bleachers.

 

Harry arrived just as he saw Draco dismount hastily and on shaky legs. He was in fact trembling from head to toe, and reached out to support himself with one arm on a pillar before suddenly retching.

 

“ _ Draco! _ ” 

 

Harry tossed his Firebolt carelessly to the side and ran up to Draco, whose shaky legs had given out from under him and was now kneeling on the slightly damp grass.

 

Harry dropped to his knees beside him, hands hovering around Draco’s head and shoulders and back, at a loss at what to do. Draco was breathing rapidly and covering his face with trembling hands. Harry cast quick Evanesco on the vomit in front of the Slytherin and moved to face him, resting his hands gently on Draco’s shaking shoulders.

 

“Draco, it’s alright. You’re okay, Draco, you’re safe. You’re alright, everything is alright.” 

 

Draco shot forward and grabbed the front of Harry’s robes tightly in his hands, even as he dropped his head to Harry’s chest, gasping for breath.

 

“Harry-- I _ can’t _ \-- Harry,  _ help me _ , I’m dying-- oh God-- I can’t  _ breathe _ ,  _ please--”  _

 

Harry’s arms wrapped themselves tightly around Draco’s shivering body, almost shaking themselves. He placed a gloved hand on the back of Draco’s head.

 

“It’s okay Draco, you’re not dying, you just need to breathe, I’ll help you breathe it’s okay, just breathe with me okay? That’s right just breathe with me.”

 

Harry held Draco tightly and breathed deeply and loudly. His heart was absolutely racing, but he tried to slow it down with deep breaths, hoping fervently that it would slow Draco’s panicked gasps as well. With every deliberate inhalation, his chest expanded, raising Draco’s head, and then lowering it as he exhaled through his mouth, the air ruffling the top of Draco’s blonde strands. After a few of these, he noticed Draco struggling to match his breathing, with limited success.

 

“That’s right, you’re doing great, just take a deep breath with me…. And then exhale, brilliant, just like that.” 

 

He thought back to how he had felt, hyperventilating under the Invisibility Cloak in the Astronomy Tower a few weeks ago on Halloween. How certain he had been that he was dying, how terrifying it was, and how weak he had felt. He held Draco tighter, trying to convey that he found him anything but weak right now.

 

“You’re alright. I know it’s awful, but you’re doing great. You’ll be just fine, just breathe with me, I’ve got you. You’re almost through it.”

 

And he was. Draco’s breathing was slowing rapidly now, almost matching Harry’s own until suddenly, they were breathing together, holding on to one another, under the Quidditch stands. They stayed that way for a long time, Harry muttering encouraging words even as he stroked the back of Malfoy’s head, before trailing off into silence. They remained embraced for a long moment before Draco slowly pushed away. Harry reluctantly loosened his grip.

 

Draco looked flushed, and deeply embarrassed, but rather than inspire pity in Harry, his vulnerable expression and messy hair caused Harry’s heart to suddenly clench. He looked…. 

Harry struggled to find a descriptor beyond ‘ _ lovely _ ’. He landed on ‘human’.

 

“...I’m sorr--” 

 

“Don’t apologize,” Harry cut him off. “Don’t dare apologize Draco,  _ Jesus… _ Are you--” 

 

He was going to ask if Draco was alright, but that suddenly seemed like the worst question.

 

“Right, no. Erm-- I’m sorry, first of all, clearly inviting you out for a fly was another miserable failure on my part.” 

 

“Don’t apologize, Potter, Merlin it wasn’t as though you could know.”

 

They stayed kneeling, inches from each other, neither looking the other boy in the eyes. Harry thought back to how this all began from an attempt  _ not _ to make things tense and awkward and narrowly avoided groaning out loud. What a disaster.

 

“Alright, neither of us apologizes then. Would you--” Harry didn’t imagine he would get a positive response from Draco, but asked the question he was itching to pose nevertheless.

 

“Would you like to talk about it?”

 

He was looking at Draco with a concerned frown on his face when the blond looked up at him, a predictably disdainful look on his face at the thought of sharing his emotions directed at Harry, but when he looked Harry in the eyes, something changed. His disdainful veneer cracked and his lips trembled before he could cover them with long pale fingers. He shook his head no, but Harry waited nevertheless. Eventually, Draco lowered his fingers from his now tightly pressed lips.

 

“I--” 

 

A pause. Harry stayed stock still, as though Draco was a creature that the smallest movement might easily spook. 

 

“I haven’t flown since-- since the Room of Requirement.”

 

Suddenly Harry was crushed by a sense of tremendous guilt. How had he been so stupid as to forget.

 

“Oh god, Draco, I’m so sorry, seriously, I’m a bloody moro--”

 

Draco reached a hand out and laid it on Harry’s knee.

 

“No apologies, Potter, remember?”

 

“Screw that, seriously I’m an insensitive  _ imbecile _ , I should have realized--”

 

“Potter. Harry. It’s fine. You couldn’t have known.” 

 

“I was  _ there _ Draco, who could know better than  _ me _ ?”

 

And Harry  _ did _ know. He could remember with startling accuracy the sweltering heat of the Fiendfyre, the acrid smell of burning magic… and of burning flesh as Vincent fell to his death. He also remembered Crabbe casting the killing curse at him-- and Draco pleading for Harry’s life as he screamed at Crabbe not to kill him. Remembers the feel of Draco holding on to him tightly as he flew them out and saved his life in return.

 

Harry dropped a hand to lay on top of the one Draco had placed on his knee. He struggled with the silence that hung over their shared memories.

 

“... I have nightmares. All the time. Sometimes about the Room of Requirement, but mostly about my time in the forest. Forest _ s _ , rather. Running from Voldemort, while trying to figure out how to kill him.”

 

Harry swallowed. 

 

“And of my death.”

 

Draco’s hand tightens around Harry’s knee under his hand, and Harry tightens his own in response. 

 

“I’m running from my death every night, and on the  _ good _ nights I wake up before Voldemort catches up to me.” Harry takes a breath a tightens his grip on Draco’s hand. “On most nights though, the killing curse reaches me before I can wake up. I try to tell myself it’s just a dream, in the mornings, to calm myself down, but it’s  _ not _ just a dream, is it? And everyone carries on, but I puke when I wake up every other night for the fear of it all. And I feel like a coward, because I shouldn’t be afraid to die, or of Voldemort should I? But I am. I am, and I feel like I might be the only one still afraid.”

 

Harry snaps his mouth shut, cutting off the verbal vomit in its tracks. He had just said more to Draco about his mental state post-war than he had to anyone in his life. He dared a glance up at Draco. 

 

He was looking at him with a tenderness Harry had never seen on his face, and it caused his heart to stutter. Draco then smiled crookedly. 

 

“Merlin, Potter, if you can’t be afraid of dying or of Voldemort what the bloody hell  _ can _ you be afraid of?”

 

Harry huffed a surprised laugh, grateful for the broken tension. 

 

“...prat. When you say it like  _ that _ , I sound ridiculous.”

 

“You  _ are  _ ridiculous.” 

 

Harry rolled his eyes and leaned back, seating himself down and giving his knees a break from the pressure of kneeling on the cold hard ground. His hand stayed on Draco’s until he couldn’t justify it to himself any longer, after which he let go and leaned back on his arms, letting his head hang back between his shoulders.

 

“... you’re right about that, I suppose. I get that it sounds ridiculous, but… I don’t know, it doesn’t  _ feel _ ridiculous, you know?”

 

He tilted his head up to look at Draco, who had also resettled himself and was now sitting cross-legged, hands in his lap, at which he was staring intently.

 

“Yeah, I know.” 

 

They sat in silence for a beat, before Draco spoke up again.

 

“I have nightmares every night, too. Of Voldemort in my house, creeping into every corner of what I had thought of as safe. Of the months I was tasked with killing Dumbledore. Of Severus killing him. Of seventh year, pretending that everything was fine even as the Carrows brought the war into Hogwarts…. And more than anything else, the Room.”

 

Harry looked at Draco closer still, trying to figure out the best way to be there for him, when he seemed as though the wrong word would be enough to send him running away from him forever. He decided that listening quietly might be the best thing he could do for Draco right now.

 

“I know that Vincent had turned bad, and that you never saw him as anything other than bad to begin with, but… he’d been my  _ friend _ , as close to a best friend as I could ever have. And… I can’t get the thought of him burning to death out of my head.”

 

Draco suddenly looked up at Harry. He looked haunted.

 

“Do you know what happens to wizards when they’re caught by Fiendfyre?”

 

Harry thought the question might be rhetorical, since Draco was not looking at Harry as much as looking through him, clearly lost in memories. Harry shook his head regardless.

 

“...The beasts tear at your flesh, ripping you apart with fire, as they seek to devour all of the magic inside you. It’s being torn to shred by creatures, and it’s burning alive, and it’s being  _ emptied _ of your magical essence, all at once. Can you even think of any worse way to die? Any one of those is horrible, but all  _ three _ ?” 

 

Draco’s voice broke, and his hands quivered, before he clenched his fingers into tight fists. 

 

“It’s not quick either. Fiendfyre is sentient in a lot of ways. It draws it out. Enjoys it. Takes its time with its kills.”

 

Draco was blinking rapidly now, and he was breathing very deliberately, as though he could tip over into hyperventilation once again if he slipped up for only a moment.

 

“I’m sorry, Draco. I’m sorry your friend had to die like that.”

 

It was the most honest statement Harry could make about Crabbe’s death. Crabbe had died in an attempt to kill him and his friends. Had died fighting for Voldemort. Harry wasn’t sorry the Death Eater and lifelong bully Crabbe was dead, but he was sorry Draco was hurting. And he truly wouldn’t wish a death by Fiendfyre to anyone, certainly not now that Draco had explained it to him in such excruciating detail. He didn’t doubt that the Room of Requirement would appear more frequently in his dreams now.

 

Draco looked up at Harry, grey eyes searching for something in Harry’s green ones. Deception, perhaps, or the trite insincerity with which people so often expressed their rote condolences. Harry knew the look all too well himself.

 

But Draco didn’t find it, and at that, he relaxed the tight grip of his hands, and loosened his tight shoulders. His eyes were shiny with unspilled tears, but his breathing seemed less tightly controlled and more natural now.

 

“Thanks.”

 

He looked like he wanted to say more, but the words didn’t seem to want to come out. 

 

“That’s why… that’s why I need to fix the Room; I don’t think I’ll ever be free of it, or of the nightmares until I can put the Fyre out.” 

 

He glanced at Harry once again, looking serious as ever.

 

“I need to put the Fiendfyre out. It’s the only thing that will fix it.”

 

And although Harry could feel that Draco was talking about more than merely the nightmares, and even though he didn’t truly know how how putting out a fire could fix him, Harry suddenly wanted nothing more than to help Draco.

 

“Okay, Draco. Let’s put that fire out.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to you lovely commenters and readers in general! I love to hear your feedback in general, and I hope you're all enjoying the story and where it's going (and hopefully not getting frustrated with the slowest of burns lol)


	17. A Game of Chess

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A light fluffy interlude after the dramatics of the last chapter; thank you all so much for your lovely response to that chapter though, as well as the story in general. I don't have the words to say how much it warms my heart that people out there are enjoying it. Every comment is more motivational than the last!
> 
> Thanks as always to my dear Hana for the beta reading~*~ You're SIMPLY THE BEST.

The semester was coming to a slow but certain close, and work on the Room of Requirement had to be put on the back burner for the moment. Midterms had somehow seamlessly turned morphed into finals, and while Harry thought he should have been stressed out with the amount of school work and exams being thrown their way, he was feeling lighter than he remembered being in a long time.

 

He and Draco were friends now. Proper friends. 

 

Since the flying incident neither of them spoke of, the last of the careful ice that separated them had thawed. The cautiousness with which both of them had approached their interactions had given way to a more self-assured, not-quite-boldness; they could tease the other without constantly worrying about stepping on landmines. They (especially Draco) were less concerned with maintaining a facade of perfect cool control, and were more at ease around one another. 

 

They had a layer of intimacy to build their friendship on now, and that groundwork of trust in the acceptance of the other did wonders for allowing them to grow their friendship moving forward.

 

Harry wouldn’t say he was  _ glad _ Malfoy had to go through what he did on the pitch, but he certainly didn’t regret it, if it brought them to where they were now.

 

He remembered telling Draco weeks ago that he didn’t want to be his enemy anymore, that he didn’t want to have  _ any _ enemies anymore, but he didn’t realize the weight of truth behind those words until suddenly, he didn’t have any more enemies to look out over his shoulder for. The sense of profound levity with which he could walk through the world now was almost overwhelming. 

 

He finally understood the wave of post-war euphoria everyone still seemed to be riding. Although he had never truly resented Ron and Hermione for their almost over-the-top infatuation after the war, he saw it more clearly now, a new layer of empathy allowing him to smile at the two and make a speedy escape whenever he caught them looking at each other in that certain way these days.

 

It had been just such a speedy escape that had brought him to Draco’s lab today. Although Harry had brought some homework, they were currently playing chess instead, after Harry insisted that the frazzled look Draco gave him over the stack of Arithmancy books was one he recognized all-too-well from when Hermione had gone too deep into magical calculations, and forced him to take a break.

 

“You know, I had hoped that losing to Ron all those years would have made me a half decent chess player, but the speed at which you keep beating me is starting to really shatter that idea.”

 

Draco smirked at him from across the couch, the chess board floating between them.

 

“Chin up Harry, can’t be the best at  _ everything _ , you know.”

 

“You ever thought of taking that advice for yourself, Malfoy? Don’t think I haven’t noticed the added layer of crazy you’ve thrown yourself into studying with since the midterm results came out. Wasn’t getting top marks in  _ almost _ all of the subjects good enough for you?”

 

Draco scowled at Harry, and although it looked as posh as any other expression Draco usually wore, he could almost  _ see _ a toddler sticking his tongue out at him superimposed on the aristocratic features sneering at him.

 

“Not  _ nearly _ all of the subjects. Granger got top in Arithmancy and Muggle Studies, you got top in DADA and  _ Longbottom _ beat me in Herbology. Longbottom, Harry.” 

 

Harry rolled his eyes.

 

“Draco, Neville is the bloody Herbology intern, you can’t possibly have expected to beat him at it.”

 

Draco sniffed and moved his rook.

 

“Yes, well, we certainly know Sprout favours him then, don’t we.”

 

Harry laughed at Draco and moved his pawn out of the way before realizing that opened up the board for Draco to take his bishop instead.

 

“Aw, bugger. In any case, you got top marks in everything  _ else _ so how’s about you just relax and enjoy beating me at chess, eh?”

 

Draco smirked at him from across the board and took his bishop.

 

“I’d enjoy it more if it wasn’t so bloody simple. Merlin Harry, you’d think for a bloody war hero who beat the Dark Lord you’d be a little better at strategy.” 

 

Harry shrugged.

 

“I just try to play the game as it comes. Same way I did with the war really, just dealt with the problems as they came at me. Worked out well enough then, though, eh?”

 

Draco rolled his eyes and moved a pawn.

 

“I seem to recall you dying, Potter.”

 

The raised eyebrows and tetchy look of judgement Draco shot at Harry had him laughing out loud at what might otherwise have been a rather sobering comment.

 

“Right, well, I dealt with that problem when it came up too.”

 

Draco let out a light huff of laughter at that, and Harry’s stomach gently swooped in response. He was still getting used to having the power to make Draco laugh. 

 

He was always so serious, so far away in his own thoughts. He very rarely smiled beyond a light crinkle in his eyes, even more rarely laughed. Harry didn’t know why, but he couldn’t help but notice this strange pall Draco lived under, and more and more, he was making it his duty to pull a smile or a laugh from the blond.

 

He chalked it down to the happy mood he was in these days. A need to spread that joy around.

 

“You’d think you would be a little bit  _ beyond _ grades now, anyways. You perform pretty powerful magic when we work on castle repairs all the time. To hear Hagrid say it, the work you did on his hut was a work of magical genius. What does it matter if you’re not the only one getting O’s in Herbology and Arithmancy and Muggle Studies and whatnot.”

 

“‘Whatnot’ being Defence Against the Dark Arts.”

 

Harry rolled his eyes, as he contemplated the board. 

 

He left the silence hanging as an invitation for Draco to open up to him, a technique that had worked in the past. His curiosity over Malfoy still showed no signs of fading, and he had taken note of how to best get him to open up. Once again, this particular technique seemed to work.

 

“...the grades themselves  _ don’t  _ matter, the knowledge they  _ represent  _ is what matters. Knowledge is power, Potter, surely you’ve heard that before?”

 

Harry smiled at Draco.

 

“Oh, so this is just a Slytherin power play, is what you’re saying?”

 

Draco raised his nose at him.

 

“Well I wouldn’t expect a  _ Gryffindor _ to understand. Slytherins understand that having power is one thing, but having more power than others is another.”

 

Harry sniggered and moved a rook around for lack of a better move.

 

“Well, you know, the Sorting Hat almost placed me in Slytherin.”

 

Harry looked up from the board at a gobsmacked Draco.

 

“It  _ what? _ ”

 

Harry smirked at Draco and leaned back against the armchair of the couch, arms behind his head.

 

“It talked to me, told me it saw greatness in me. Told me I’d go far if I went with Slytherin. Kind of ambiguous as a statement actually, now that I think about it. Voldemort went far as well, just not quite in the direction anyone should go in…” 

 

Draco bristled.

 

“Not  _ all _ Slytherins who do great things are evil, Potter.”

 

Harry rolled his eyes, but tread lightly. It mustn’t be an easy thing to deal with, that instant association with evil just because of your house.

 

“...well who could have blamed them for going dark with the decor you used to have. Living in the dungeons? The green flames, and water windows, and all of the black? None of you stood a chance, really. The couch is nice though, I’ll give you that.”

 

Harry smirked smugly at Draco, who no longer looked on the edge of defensive, but rather shocked and outraged, an expression Harry rather enjoyed seeing on the blond.

 

“ _ Potter, when in the bloody hell did you go into the Slytherin common room?” _

 

Harry tilted his head back in laughter. He was enjoying the affront on Draco’s face too much.

 

“ _ Tell me, Potter!”  _

 

Through tears in his eyes, Harry could see mirth in Draco’s features, just under the surface of the indignation. It only made Harry smile wider, a last few chuckles escaping him.

 

“...Second year. You were there. I talked to you, and everything.”

 

Draco’s mouth dropped.

 

“You’re lying. I don’t remember that. You’re making the whole thing up.”

 

Harry’s face was flushed with mirth. He tilted his head to the side, contemplating keeping Draco in suspense for a bit longer, if only because he was so thoroughly entertaining when affronted.

 

“No, it’s true. This was during the whole Chamber of Secrets debacle, I thought you might be the heir of Slytherin, so Hermione, Ron and I hatched a plan to find out what you knew. We stole some potions ingredients from Snape and brewed Polyjuice potion for weeks. Well, Hermione brewed mainly, we brewed it in Myrtle’s toilet. I was poly-juiced as Goyle, Ron as Crabbe. Hermione was going to be Bullstrode, but she grabbed some hair from her cat by mistake.”

 

Draco looked positively flabbergasted. 

 

“Granger brewed a Polyjuice potion, in  _ second year?” _

 

Harry beamed with pride at Draco, ever proud of his friends’ impressive accomplishments.

 

“In a bathroom. In secret,” he added.

 

“With ingredients stolen from  _ Severus Snape _ . Bloody hell, Potter, I always knew you got away with murder, but this is too much.”

 

Harry just chuckled. 

 

“Hermione’s the one who comes up with these plans half the time, but everyone always seems to think that  _ I’m _ the one getting away with everything. She hardly ever even gets any of the blame! I must have gotten detention a dozen times more than she ever did.” 

 

“And you’re sure  _ you’re _ the one the Sorting Hat wanted to place in Slytherin, and not her?”

 

Harry laughed as Draco looked on in disbelieving amusement. He felt warm inside being able to joke around with Draco like this about their shared past, even though Draco was just now finding out about it.

 

“Yes, well, I don’t know if the Hat wanted to place her anywhere else really, I don’t think I ever told them about the Hat almost placing me in Slytherin.” 

 

Draco didn’t quite smile at that revelation, but he pinked almost imperceptibly at the top of his cheeks, and the tip of his left ear, which wasn’t covered by shoulder-length platinum hair; his body’s giveaways to the genuine pleasure of being trusted with information not widely distributed. It somehow made Harry want to tell Draco more secrets.

 

A surprising and dangerous reaction.

 

“...I didn’t realize you could have conversations with the Hat about the Sorting actually. I’d read a bit about it in Hogwarts a History this summer, but I didn’t think much on it.”

 

“Yes, well, the Hat didn’t even make it to your head before it shouted Slytherin out, as I recall. Didn’t get much of a chance to chit-chat, did you?”

 

Draco raised his nose at him again, somehow smug about the whole thing. Harry smiled and rolled his eyes at him.

 

“Maybe you belong in Gryffindor after all though; quoting Hogwarts a History is a very Gryffindor move, if you go by Hermione’s nerdy example.”

 

At that, Draco reached out a leg and shoved him from beneath the floating chessboard.

 

“Don’t insult your friends for being well-read, Harry, we can’t help it if being cleverer than you is a low bar to overcome.”

 

Harry’s heart thumped at Draco’s easy inclusion of himself amongst his friends, and he aimed what surely was a too-genuine smile at Draco for it. The latter flushed a little more obviously this time and rolled his eyes.

 

“...alright Potter, are you going to keep me waiting forever, or what? Make your move already so I can beat you again.”

 

He pushed the board closer to Harry to return to their game, but kept the leg that he had shoved Harry with extended, its solid warmth pressed ever so gently against Harry’s calf.

 

The casual press was somehow extremely distracting to Harry, who lost the game even quicker this time around. 

 

He didn’t mind all that much.


	18. Let Me In

It was the last week of term, and thankfully so, as it meant that finals would soon be behind Harry. Although he was enjoying the academics far more than he ever had before (now that he could focus exclusively on school work and not his impending murder at the hands of various foes), he was fervently looking forward to the two weeks’ respite from studying and exams.

 

He was currently putting the final touches on his Potions final, and thinking about how much he was looking forward to going to the Burrow; Molly’s cooking, being surrounded by all of the Weasleys… Nothing could beat that.

 

He grinned at the thoughts as he poured his final Blood-Replenishing potion into a vial to submit. He held it up to the light and while the red-coloured potion seemed to be the correct shade of vermillion Draco had shown Harry during one of their study sessions, he wasn’t sure if the consistency was right. Deciding that there wasn’t much he could to about it at this point anyway, he stoppered it up and started packing his supplies away. The students who successfully brewed their potions would receive bonus marks if they were good enough to be used in the Hospital Wing, and while Harry wasn’t sure if that would be the case for him (as it was sure to be for Hermione and Draco) he was more than pleased at having brewed a half-decent medicinal potion at all; medical potions were diabolically finicky.

 

He shot a glance over at Ron, who still seemed to be in the last few steps of brewing. His cauldron was full of a very thick burgundy sludge, which told Harry that Ron’s fire was probably too hot-- a diagnosis he would never have been able to make before chumming up to Malfoy, certainly. Sensing that he was being watched, Ron looked up at him and shrugged, seemingly resigned to his failure. Harry shot a pointed look at the fire and hoped Ron got the hint as he made his way down to deposit his potion. 

 

Slughorn took a look at the vial, and although he remained more subdued than usual in the examination setting, Harry could almost hear the good natured chortle as he put the potion down on the desk. 

 

“Very good, dear boy, very good!” he said, in hushed tones.

 

Harry grinned and turned to make his way out. He shot one last look at Ron’s potion and saw that he had reduced the flames. He gave him a covert thumbs up and left for the dungeons, eager to tell Malfoy about his success. 

 

Maybe potions weren’t so bad after all.

* * *

  
  


When he got to the lab, Harry knocked on the door, but he received no response. He shot a puzzled frown at the door; Malfoy had been the first to finish his potion, and although he and Harry hadn’t talked about it or tacitly agreed to it, they had been having post-exam rundowns in the lab for all of their finals so far. 

 

He knocked again and just as he was about to turn around and head for their common room instead, the door opened to reveal what was clearly a half-asleep Draco Malfoy on the other side.

 

“Sorry, Harry, must’ve dozed off. Do come in.”

 

Harry couldn’t take his eyes off of him; the sight of Draco so bleary-eyed and vulnerable felt unspeakably intimate. Draco, in turn, was not looking at Harry at all, but rather rubbing a tired hand across his face and through his ruffled hair. Harry’s heart was suddenly beating quite loudly in his chest, to his great surprise. 

 

Draco made his way back to the couch he had clearly been napping on, and laid back down across the full length of it.

 

“You get the armchair today, Potter, I’m not sharing the couch.”

 

Harry was startled out of his stupor, and followed Draco into the room, shutting the door behind him.

 

“Prat. Didn’t your mother ever teach you to share, Malfoy?” Harry’s heart was starting to slow down again, to Harry’s relief.

 

“No, she taught me to take what I want.”

 

“Figures.”

 

Harry sat himself down on the armchair across from the couch, and made himself comfortable as Draco slung an arm over his eyes and chest, seemingly intent on falling back asleep. Harry was unsurprised at the other boy’s tiredness; he had been studying non-stop in the past few days, more than once doing so through the night, and Harry knew that last night had been one of those from the look on Draco’s face as he had walked into the potion’s exam this morning. 

 

How he had managed to stay awake as long as he did, take the exam, and finish first, stumped Harry.

 

“Should I just bugger off and let you sleep, then?”

 

Draco waved a hand from the arm still covering his face in a casual dismissal.

 

“I’m not sleeping, I’m waking up, can’t you tell, Potter?”

 

The slow, slurred way his words were coming out told Harry that the opposite was very much true, and Harry struggled to find it anything other than terribly endearing.

 

“Oh, of course, pardon my ignorance, how  _ could _ I have been so blind?”

 

“Beats me. But then everyone knows you’re blind, speccy git.”

 

Harry rolled his eyes and allowed himself to smile at the jab since Draco’s eyes were covered up.

 

“Alright well, since you’re so very awake, want to tell me about how you thought the potions exam went down?”

 

Draco yawned.

 

“Blimey, no, it was too simple to bother breaking it down. For  _ some _ of us, anyways. Can’t  _ believe  _ I spent so much time preparing for the theory portion, a  _ third _ year could have answered that. How did it go for you? Spice it up, if you can, or you  _ will _ bore me to sleep.”

 

Harry laughed, and told him about his brew, taking the opportunity to look at Draco more closely than usual, since his eyes were covered. 

 

He seemed exhausted, the lower half of his face which was left uncovered looking rather gaunt. He seemed very relaxed at the moment though, which lent his usually tense thin lips an appealing softness. A strand of his shoulder length platinum blonde hair was laying quite close to his mouth, and Harry shoved aside the sudden inexplicable urge to touch either. He focused instead on what he was saying, intent on ignoring the intrusive thought and his once again elevated heart rate.

 

“--in the end, the colour seemed right, but I wasn’t sure about the consistency.”

 

And although Harry had been half convinced he had lulled Draco to sleep after all, a response came from the lips Harry had been staring at the whole time.

 

“Did it just coat your stirring rod when you took it out from the cauldron?”

 

“I think it did? Not like a thick chocolate or a custard would, more like er--” he struggled to come up with a good comparison. “More like a thin gravy?”

 

Draco hummed sleepily in response.

 

“Pomfrey will be pleased.”

 

Harry beamed at Draco, who was more than half-asleep now. His heart clenched.

 

“Alright well, I know you’re  _ very awake _ but I think I’ll make myself scarce anyway; Ron’s potion was closer to pudding when I left, I want to see if he managed to sort it out. Sorry I woke you in the first place, I wouldn’t have knocked at all if I had known you were asleep.”

 

Draco waved him off again.

 

“S’alright, just let yourself in next time. Password is  _ astra inclinant _ . Just make sure you picture the room, password won’t work unless you know what’s behind the door.”

 

Harry stilled from where he was half-crouched, gathering his things. 

 

Although the permission was being granted by an almost unconscious Draco, the weight of the gesture did not go unnoticed. Harry’s heart thumped loudly again at the casual invitation from Draco to claim a little bit more of his space as Harry’s own.

 

“The lengths you’ll go to to preserve your beauty sleep, huh? Giving a Gryffindor your password?”

 

Draco grunted from the couch.

 

“Yes, well you seem to manage to get into wherever you want regardless of whether or not you have the passwords anyways, so might as well make the job easier and avoid being awoken by your trollish pounding at my door.”

 

Although Draco hadn’t moved a muscle, he sounded much more alert than he had moments before. 

 

“Lazy bastard. Alright well I’ll be sure to keep my knocking as un-trollish as I can manage from now on, and let myself in so I don’t wake Sleeping Beauty.”

 

Draco relaxed, and sunk a little farther into the couch. Harry’s heart stuttered at the implicit trust displayed to him.

 

“You do that, Potter. Catch you tomorrow?”

 

“Yeah, alright. Sleep tight, Draco.”

 

A very asleep sounding “M’not sleeping” was the last thing Harry heard as he made his way up the stairs. 

 

Harry blamed his racing heart on the fact that he was flying up the stairs, taking them two at a time, feeling light as anything.

* * *

 

The next day, Harry was on his way to meet Draco at the lab, anxious to try to open the door by himself when he suddenly heard the blond boy’s voice coming from an open classroom just off of the Great Hall.

 

“--yes, well, it’s either that or France, and the situation there is… complicated.”

 

“I understand, Malfoy, but you haven’t left the castle since the very beginning of the summer,  _ surely _ you’d benefit from a bit of a break.”

 

He was speaking to Headmistress McGonagall, who Harry noted once again, sounded quite gentle when speaking to Draco, a quality that didn’t often affect her speech.

 

“Not at all, ma’am. There isn’t anywhere I’d rather be for the holidays.”

 

“Yes, well, it’s looking like it will just be you, and the faculty this year; after the war it seems all of the families were eager to recall their children home for Christmas. Even the unfortunate number of our students who lost their parents in the war have been called home to their guardians.”

 

“I guess it will be just like the summer then. July in Christmas instead of Christmas in July, if you will.”

 

Harry was shocked to hear a chuckle coming from McGonagall. Draco had just joked around with  _ McGonagall _ and gotten a laugh from her. He stood mouth agape at the door frame, hidden from view by the door.

 

He briefly debated walking in, to see the scene for himself, before the meaning behind their conversation truly sunk in.

 

Draco would be the only student left behind at Hogwarts tomorrow, when their holiday break began.

 

Harry leaned back against the wall, pulling away from the door frame, trying to process this information, and why it sat like a heavy stone in his stomach. 

 

It was like his first year, all over again. The knowledge that he couldn’t go home and that he would be left all alone in the castle because he didn’t have a family, and the substitute for a family that he  _ did _ have wouldn’t want him home still felt fresh in his memories, and imagining Draco being the one to experience that feeling stung him deeply.

 

Draco and McGonagall were still talking, but Harry was no longer paying attention. In fact, he was turning around and walking up the stairs from whence he’d come.

 

He needed to find Ron.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you as always to the incredibly sweet readers who have left kudos and comments on this work, your comments specifically bring me just SO MUCH JOY AND MOTIVATION AND AHHH. I hope y'all enjoyed this chapter and the slowly but surely progressing emotions. Bear with me folks things will come to a head soon(ish) I promise.


	19. The Tense Goodbye

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay, but I think I'll start posting on Mondays (or maybe Wednesdays again) since my weekends are being spent with my sister and girlfriend these days! A million thanks to my dear Hana as per usual for reading this chapter over <3

“You’re  _ what?!” _

 

Harry cringed a bit, as Ron yelled at him from across their room. Hermione was seated on Ron’s bed, looking stunned and confused, which wasn’t a look Harry often saw on her face.

 

Harry knew that Ron had heard him perfectly well (as his yelling clearly showed), but he stood his ground and repeated himself for lack of anything better to say.

 

“I said, I’m not going to the Burrow for Christmas after all. I’m staying at Hogwarts, to keep Draco company.”

 

The news didn’t seem to go down any easier the second time around. Harry wondered if there might have been a better way to go about this than to barge into their room as Ron and Hermione had been lying in bed (over the covers and fully dressed, blessedly) and just blurt out his recent decision, but he figured it was a little late for that kind of wondering now.

 

“Have you eaten any funny chocolates lately? Hermione, isn’t there a spell you were researching to check for Imperius use?” 

 

Ron turned to Hermione, looking worried and confused more than angry, but Harry knew that that wouldn’t last long. He thought again of Draco, alone in the castle for the holidays, gathered his courage, and spoke up again.

 

“I haven’t been Imperiused, Ron. I’ve become friends with Draco this term, we’ve been getting closer for a while now, and I just found out that he would be the only student alone in the castle for the holidays, and I don’t want hi--”

 

“Good!” Ron interrupted him. “Good that no one has to put up with the slimy Death Eater bastard during the hols, it’s a proper Christmas miracle! What do you even  _ mean _ you’re friends with Malfoy, though? How could you  _ possibly _ be  _ friends _ with that pathetic excuse for a person? He’s a bloody  _ Death Eater Harry.”  _

 

He was getting angry now, as Ron often got when he was confused. Harry tried not to let it rile him up, but he could feel the angry flush rising to his cheeks and his heart beating faster already from the adrenaline. Why couldn’t Ron understand? Draco wasn’t that person anymore.

 

“I  _ mean _ that we’re friends!”

 

“People like Malfoy are incapable of friendship, Harry, don’t fool yourself! What is this about,  _ really _ ? Getting in with the enemy? Is he up to something?”

 

It made Harry’s blood boil that Ron was proving to be so intractable about this, although he shouldn’t have been surprised. There was bad blood between the Malfoys and the Weasleys long before Harry entered the picture, and him giving Draco a chance and becoming friends with him was not enough to erase all of that. Regardless, Ron’s comments about Draco rankled him to his core.

 

“He isn’t  _ up to _ anything, Ron! We’re friends! We hang out together, study together, talk about things! Which is more than  _ we’ve _ been doing in the past few months, don’t you think?”

 

Immediately, Harry knew that that had been the wrong thing to say. Ron’s face was turning purple with anger, and hurt, and maybe guilt, but whatever the combination of emotions, it wasn’t good. Harry knew he should de-escalate, and apologize, but he also knew that he wasn’t wrong. He couldn’t apologize because it was true. It didn’t mean that Draco mattered more to him than Ron, who was like a brother to Harry, but he had seen vastly more of Draco than of Ron and he  _ shared a room _ with Ron. Harry realized that there might have been some resentment hiding beneath the surface after all.

 

“Alright well since you and  _ Draco _ are such good friends then I’m sure  _ he’ll _ be very happy to spend the holidays with you, because  _ I don’t want to see you at the Burrow at all!”  _

 

And with that, Ron stormed across the room, and out the door, bumping Harry’s shoulder along the way before slamming the door behind himself.

 

Harry sank onto his bed and put his head in his hands, exhaling deeply. That couldn’t possibly have gone any worse.

 

“Harry, I’m trying to understand, but I just  _ don’t _ . When on Earth did you become friends with  _ Malfoy?” _

 

Harry snapped his head up towards Hermione, who was still sitting on Ron’s bed. Harry had forgotten she was there.

 

She was looking at him with barely repressed disdain, which Harry found somehow more hurtful than Ron’s angry yelling. If  _ Hermione _ couldn’t see reason, what hope did he have of his friends ever understanding?

 

“...I started studying with him near the beginning of the semester, late September, early October? We’d talked a few times before that, when I ran into him when he was doing some reparations in the school.” 

 

He left out the part where he had run into him only because he had sought him out, mistrustful of his recent behaviour.

 

“Hagrid also really likes him, Draco fixed his hut up and everything! He was at Nancy’s birthday party-- he brought her a gift!”

 

He looked at Hermione imploringly, but she only looked concerned.

 

“Harry, I just don’t want to see you get taken in by Malfoy again. I know you’ve always had… a bit of a  _ fascination _ with him--” 

 

Harry heard ‘obsession’ through her words pretty clearly.

 

“--but that was back when there was a war to fight, and Malfoy was the enemy. I don’t think it’s healthy for you to get back into that fixation, now that the war is over. If you believe that he’s turning over a new leaf, then you can believe that--”

 

Harry didn’t let her doubtful phrasing go unnoticed.

 

“-- but just let him do that on his own and just… find something new to focus on, okay? I just don’t want to see you hurt anymore, Harry.”

 

And Harry really  _ could _ tell that her words were coming from a place of caring, but that only soothed the sting of her judgement so much. 

 

“...Draco won’t hurt me Hermione, he’s not that guy anymore.”

 

And Harry believed that. He knew for a fact that the studious, sarcastic but kind man that gifted baby dragons pink collars, and repaired tables, and invented wonderful things and rebuilt the school was not the Draco Malfoy they had known in the past. He would just have to give Ron and Hermione time to accept that.

 

It didn’t make their initial rejection hurt any less.

 

“...okay Harry, if you say so.” Hermione sounded unconvinced, but unwilling to continue discussing the matter, for which Harry was grateful.

 

“I’ll talk to Ron, help calm him down. I’m sure he didn’t actually mean what he said about you not being welcome at the Burrow, so if you change your mind you can meet us there. I’ll only be there after Boxing Day though, I wanted to spend the hols with my parents.”

 

“Yeah, of course. Thanks, Hermione.”

 

And with that, Hermione also left the room. Harry let himself fall backwards onto his bed and lay down with his eyes closed. That was not at all how he had hoped things would go. 

 

He opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling, pensive and melancholy. He thought of Draco again, and was relieved to find that the tightening in his chest at the thought of him alone on Christmas was lessened now, with the knowledge that it wouldn’t come to be. 

 

He’d find a way to make things right with Ron, and Hermione would understand in time. For now, he could be glad that he was at least doing what was right by his friend.

* * *

 

“You’re  _ what? _ ” 

 

Harry closed his eyes for a beat. Déjà vu.

 

“I’m spending Christmas in the castle, Draco.” 

 

“McGonagall told me all of the students were going home for the holidays just earlier today, when did you decide this?”

 

Harry debated telling Draco about having overheard his conversation with McGonagall, but he couldn’t think of a single way to phrase it that didn’t end with Malfoy furious at him.

 

“...Earlier today. Got in a row with Ron about it actually, so I couldn’t go home if I wanted to.”

 

Draco frowned at that.

 

“What, you live with the Weasle--ys?”

 

Harry raised his eyebrows at Draco’s almost slip, and he only raised his innocently in return.

 

“Well--no. But it’s not like I plan to ever go back to the  _ Dursley’s _ . And Grimmauld Place doesn’t quite feel like home if I’m just there by myself with Kreacher.”

 

“Wait, Number 12 Grimmauld Place? Great-Aunt Walburga's home?”

 

Harry blinked at Draco. How had he forgotten that Draco was related to Sirius?

 

“...yeah. Sirius left it to me when he died, he was my godfather.”

 

“ _ You’re _ the one that inherited Grimmauld place?” 

 

Draco looked absolutely shocked.

 

“The Black side of the family have been squabbling amongst themselves for years about that property, not that you would know anything about it. The magical deed on the family records tome had disappeared when Sirius died, and we all figured it was because either whoever got it was not a Black, or the house was forfeit because Sirius had not willed it to anyone formally and he had been burnt out of the family.  There have been distant relatives coming out of the woodwork from all over, trying to stake a claim on the home. I  _ can’t _ believe  _ Harry Bloody Potter _ is the owner of Grimmauld Place. Of  _ course _ you are.”

 

Draco had the same look of resigned surprise on his face as he got whenever Harry let slip the things he got away with during his younger years at Hogwarts, and it was doing wonders for his mood.

 

“Yeah, well I don’t know that’s it worth much fighting for, to be honest. It was full of boggarts and doxies and all sorts of things. It was in total disrepair back in fifth year, and it’s only gotten marginally better in the years since. It’s definitely a lot tidier now that Kreacher doesn’t hate me though. Still full of junk, although I’ll probably keep binning stuff this summer.”

 

Draco turned to look at him from where he had been staring off at the wall in his mildly frustrated stupor.

 

“Potter, some of that ‘junk’ is priceless Black relics, surely. You haven’t  _ actually  _ been throwing things in the rubbish have you?”

 

Harry’s eyes widened like a deer in headlights. He resisted the urge to say ‘Sirius started it!’, but only just.

 

“...Kreacher’s saved most of it.” 

 

Harry avoided the blond’s sharp gaze by staring down at his shoes, but he still felt it drilling holes in the side of his head.

 

“Honestly, I wouldn’t recognize a relic from a rubbish bin. Sirius didn’t seem to care about any of it so I didn’t think I needed to--”

 

Draco’s intensifying glare was causing Harry’s speech and heartbeat to quicken. He was clearly on thin ice.

 

“--but I mean,  _ clearly _ that’s been a, um. Mistake? On my part?”

 

Draco was silently screaming a resounding ‘ _ clearly’  _ at him with only the furrow of his brows and the thinning of his lips.

 

“But— er— maybe that’s something you can help me out with! You know, if you want a fun holiday project! We can spend a weekend at Grimmauld Place and you can tell me what all is a precious relic or not.”

 

Harry looked up at Draco’s face, and was surprised to note that the hostility there had instantly turned to surprise. Harry had clearly taken him aback with the invitation somehow, although how Draco could be surprised at receiving an invitation to his home when Draco himself had not only invited Harry into his secret sanctum but essentially given him a key, was beyond him.

 

“I mean, surely you could confirm that the troll leg umbrella stand is truly rubbish and I can chuck it in the bin once and for all.”

 

Draco’s eyes softened at the edges, even as he turned his nose up.

 

“I’ll have you know that troll leg umbrella stands were all the rage in the mid 1800s, and that if that turns out to be a McNillan Witches original-- as I’m sure it will be, the Blacks have always had excellent taste-- then I will personally hex you for throwing it in the bin, Potter.”

 

Harry laughed at Draco, taking his snide comment for the acquiescence it was. 

 

He was suddenly looking forward to the holidays again. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks as always to the beautiful commenters and readers who leave kudos, I WOULD DIE FOR ANY ONE OF YOU.


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